Holy Devil
by silviaelisa
Summary: Seventh Year. Hermione Granger and Blaise Zabini have one thing in common: they're hiding something, and they might discover that they need each other to unravel the ancient mystery surrounding their secrets. ON HIATUS!
1. Prologue

**About Holy Devil: **7th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hermione Granger, Head Girl, is the only heir of one of the oldest wizarding families, but nobody knows. Blaise Zabini, quiet Italian Slytherin, hides something of his own, and nobody has to know. When Draco Malfoy is made Head Boy, Hermione and Blaise start to meet everywhere. So often, as a matter of fact, that they're bound to find out each other's secrets, and then, they might discover they need each other to unravel an ancient mystery. (**Warning!** Started before HBP, continued post Beedle the Bard.)

_**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. The author of the following story (which is me) has no connection to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Books or Warner Bros., Inc. – No money is being made from this, no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

_"Is it you, my Prince? You have waited a long while." _– 'The Sleeping Beauty in the Woods' by Charles Perrault.

* * *

The first time Hermione noticed something had changed was on her mother's birthday, the summer before her seventh year.

In front of her mirror, she had assessed her looks. Was she taller? She most definitely was, even if by a few inches only. Her hair had darkened slightly; her chestnut coloured hair had looked so dark she could have sworn it was black. She had peered closer in the mirror. Her eyes hadn't been brown anymore either, they had sparkled indigo hues. Hermione had asked herself what had happened. She had stared at the brief letter she had received that very morning and had traced the Hogwarts seal with her fingers. Professor Dumbledore hadn't asked her not to tell anyone, not in those explicit words, but she had chosen to keep the information he had given her to herself.

A sigh, she had sighed many times since that day.

She hated keeping secrets from Harry and Ron, but this was bigger news than their friendship could tolerate – or such was her opinion anyway. So, when the last week of August had come and she had been invited to spend a few days at the Weasley's, Hermione had accepted with a heavy heart.

However, not a day had passed that Ginny cornered her in their girls-only tiny bedroom and demanded to know what was going on with her.

Their tentative friendship had developed in the previous year, and it had strengthened under the pressure of the War. Ginny had an incredible sense of intuition when it came to Hermione, and while they refrained from saying it aloud, they both thought of the other as their best friend.

"Haven't you finished reading yet?" she asked, edging on the bed.

Ginny huffed. "Wait a sec, will you?"

The redheaded witch scanned the rest of the letter, and then finally looked up.

"Amazing!"

Hermione looked down. "I guess that's one way of putting it."

Ginny laughed at her attitude, and asked her to imagine how much fun she could get out of her predicament.

"I just feel the pressure," Hermione replied, discouraged.

"You're the best witch Hogwarts has ever seen and you feel pressure _now_? After all the exams you passed?" She was outraged. "Honestly, Hermione Granger! Wake up! I mean, wandless magic..."

Hermione gave her a look.

"Okay, okay, _to-be-mastered _wandless magic," she added. "But you're the heir of a fortune, and I'm not talking about just the money... More trouble than fun, don't you think?"

The sarcasm was not lost on her friend.

"Speaking of that _undeserved_ fortune," she said. "I was thinking of giving up some of it to you, and your family, what do you think?"

Ginny smiled. "New robes for my sixth year!"

Hermione smiled too, nodding. That was why she had chosen to tell Ginny; she couldn't be all girly and silly with Harry and Ron.

"My hair, and my eyes though," Hermione mused. "Your mother already looked at me like I was a Squib when I walked out of the fireplace!"

"Say it has darkened on its own, nobody will know."

Hermione sighed; it all seemed much simpler with her best friend near.

"Just remember not to do wandless magic _without_ your wand, that might look odd!" Ginny said in a warning tone.

"There's something else actually," Hermione said. "I have a creepy tattoo now."

She showed her shoulder to Ginny.

"It's like a flower had been drawn on your skin, it resembles a... chrysanthemum, doesn't it? So pretty."

"That's why it's creepy! Chrysanthemums are flowers from graveyards and cemeteries... Maybe it's an omen, and I'm going to die..."

Ginny almost snorted.

"We survived a war," she said. "I think it's safe to say that if you were meant to die, you'd have already met your end."

They were silent for a moment, and then Ginny asked if she was going to tell Harry and Ron.

"Better yet, are you going to tell anyone?"

Hermione shook her head, but before her friend could argue, Mrs. Weasley dropped by her daughter's room, saying Harry had just arrived and they were ready to eat.

"Hermione, have you done something with your hair?" she asked.

"Oh, it's darker," came the ready answer. "A family trait, you see."

They walked down to the kitchen where everybody was waiting. Hermione sat next to Harry and asked him how the trip had been.

He answered with a grunt. "You know I hate travelling by Floo Powder."

Hermione could sympathise.

"How was your summer, Herms?"

"Don't call me that, please," she said. "It was fine."

Harry was chewing on a piece of bread and nodded absentmindedly.

"So, Herms!" Ron called. "How's Wayne?"

Hermione cringed. "I hate that nickname," she muttered, "and, by the way, I dumped Wayne," she continued in a louder voice.

Harry was flabbergasted, while not having heard her reply delayed Ron's reaction.

"What happened?" he asked afterwards. "Last month you told us you had gone to that kinematic thing of yours."

"_Cinema_, Ron," Harry said.

"Things change," Hermione said with a noncommittal shrug. "We simply didn't get along anymore, and he couldn't stop talking about Quidditch."

Ron looked at Harry, Harry looked at Ron. Ten seconds later they had shut Hermione out of their conversation and were whispering game tactics to each other in a corner of the table.

So, at first sight, nothing had changed.

Arthur chose that moment to announce what the letter Ginny and Hermione had forged said. They agreed that the following day they would all go visit Fred and George at their joke shop while shopping in Diagon Alley.

The girls smiled at each other, mischief evident in their eyes.

Later, Hermione and Ginny passed by the Whizz Hard Books' publishing house on their way to buy new robes for Hogwarts and back again when they were walking towards Flourish and Blotts. Ginny was rummaging through her purse at the counter, when Hermione spotted a known face near one of the shelves.

"Ginny, who's that boy?"

The redhead paid for the books and then turned to get a better look.

The boy looked taller than Harry from a distance and his dark hair was somewhat familiar; Hermione was positive she had seen him before.

"That's Malfoy's friend," Ginny said at once.

"Crabbe's not that thin."

Ginny laughed. "That's not who I meant! Crabbe and Goyle... friends." She laughed again. "Malfoy's _real_ friend, or he must be because Luna saw them hugging once."

"They might be more than _friends_ then."

Ginny gasped. "Hermione!"

"What? You never know these days!"

"Hermione, you're devilish, you know that? You should have been sorted in Slytherin."

She hit Ginny on her forearm. "Not funny! Come on, let's go now."

They started walking towards a bunch of red-headed people near the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron.

Hermione couldn't wait to board the fabulous Hogwarts Express; she had missed Hogwarts, and she had missed her housemates. In the course of her sixth year, she had become friends with the girls and they had exchanged loads of letters during summer. Lavender had gone to Ireland to visit her one-year-boyfriend Seamus, and Parvati, having discovered the wonders of Muggle make-up, had ended up spending most of her pocket money in a perfumery of Muggle London.

On the other hand, she would have to face Wayne after having dumped him, by owl. Wayne Hopkins, a Hufflepuff seventh-year, had fancied her for two months before he had found the guts to ask her out; Ron had gone red altogether when Hermione had told her friends about her date. She had been happy with him, but since discovering she'd have to hide her biggest secret after the Time Turner, she hadn't felt the same around him and the best option had been to split up, at least as a couple. She though she had been soft with him, but the break-up had probably upset Wayne a lot because he hadn't replied to any of her other letters.

"Hermione, dear, were you listening?"

"Sorry, Mrs. Weasley, I was thinking."

The whole table laughed and she sipped her tea, smiling. She definitely couldn't wait for her last year to begin.


	2. Head Boys

**Head Boys**

_"Always forgive your enemies, nothing annoys them so much."_ – Oscar Wilde

* * *

The train ride was uneventful, or so Hermione kept telling herself.

She had expected the true to tradition visit from Draco Malfoy and his sidekicks, but they hadn't shown up; that had prompted Hermione to ponder Ginny's words about 'Malfoy's real friend'. She was sure she knew him from their first year, but she just couldn't place a name to that face.

_"Head Boy and Girl in the front compartment_,_"_ Professor McGonagall's voice had boomed loud enough for everybody on the train to hear.

Hermione, who had almost forgot about her duties, had looked at her friends in apology before leaving. The very same boy from Flourish and Blotts had stood outside the front compartment; he had stared at her when she had reached the door.

"Hello," he had said.

She had nodded, and then had slid the door open to enter the compartment, where professors McGonagall and Snape had been waiting for her along with Malfoy.

"Fashionably late, aren't you, Granger?"

She had scowled at the boy, but had turned her attention to the teachers right away. They had complimented them for making Heads, and then Professor Snape had explained that they were to become roommates. Heads quarters had been set up for the purpose in the southern Tower of the castle.

The Slytherin Head Boy had looked as bewildered as his co-Head had.

"No point in arguing," Professor McGonagall had said. "The Headmaster has decided that to help inter-house unity, you two will have to set an example for younger years."

"It has proved to work out for both Heads last year," Professor Snape had added.

Malfoy had snorted.

The previous Head Boy and Girl had been a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin; nobody had been surprised at how well they worked together because the two Houses had never had any ill feelings towards each other.

"Well, I'm sure Hufflepuff will thank you for the kind remark, Malfoy!" Hermione had snapped, fury rising in her veins.

"You'd say that, seen as you're dating one of them," he had spat back.

Professor Snape had put an arm between them to stop the bickering.

"That's exactly the kind of behaviour the Headmaster wishes you to avoid. No more quarrelling between you two, and trust me, I will know if you overlook these orders."

He had stared at them as if trying to read their minds and Hermione had shivered at the memory of Harry's Occlumency lessons.

The other boy had still been outside the compartment when the Head Boy and Girl had been dismissed.

"Hey, Draco, how did it go?"

Malfoy had huffed and made a gesture that said 'I'll tell you later', and then he had turned to her.

"Let's call a truce, Granger," he had said.

Hermione had frowned.

"That's fine with me," she had said, "but you mustn't belittle neither Harry nor Ron."

And there was no way she was going to change her conditions. It was still hard for her to grasp why he had agreed though.

"You won't offend any Slytherin as well... Do we have a deal?"

"I think we do."

He had seemed to remember his friend had been there too, for at that moment he had taken him opposite Hermione.

"Granger, may I introduce you to Blaise Zabini."

He gestured from the other boy to her, and vice versa.

"Nice to meet you," the boy had said, taking her hand even when she hadn't offered it.

She had returned the formality and had been about to say something when Malfoy had taken the word once more.

"You study Arithmancy, don't you Granger? Blaise is also into it. I'm guessing you will see each other in class. We must go now, those morons of my _friends_ might have lost themselves."

He had said _friends_ the way Harry said _Death Eaters_.

Twenty-four hours later, the bell was ringing above Hermione's head. She wasn't going to be late for her first day of class, she just _couldn't_! Unfortunately, the hour had already finished being called when she made it to the classroom at last: Study of Ancient Runes.

"Glad you could make it, Miss Granger," Professor Babbling said, when she opened the rusty door.

Hermione blushed and looked around for a seat. She settled for Malfoy's friend because the alternative was sitting next to Wayne, and she wasn't ready to confront him just yet.

"Good morning, Head Girl," Blaise Zabini whispered.

She gave him a weak smile and took out her quill and parchment. Professor Babbling was already writing on the blackboard; Hermione noticed the runes looked laborious even to her, who had read her textbook over the summer holidays.

"Can you make anything out of it?"

Malfoy's friend spoke softly and she waved her head meaning to say she didn't.

He sighed and went back to his notes.

Hermione had never noticed him in Ancient Runes, nor in Arithmancy. How could she have gone on three years without ever noticing him? The voice of reason in her head gave her the obvious answer. Even if they had met before, there hadn't been any purpose in her learning his name. Blaise Zabini had been one of the many nameless faces in her year.

"Need a hand?" he asked, observing she hadn't written anything yet. "They're not so hard once you figure out some keywords."

"I know," she answered and, deep inside, she told herself she _must_ know. "I just find it difficult to concentrate today."

He waved his hand in a curious way.

"First day," he said. "It's normal, even for you."

Hermione considered that it was common knowledge how good her grades were; and Malfoy no doubt spoke about her in harsh words in the Slytherin common room.

"Mister Zabini!" Professor Babbling barked. "Enough with the conference, please."

Blaise nodded, but a few moments later, when the teacher had gone back to the blackboard, he scribbled in a frenzied movement on a piece of parchment he then passed to Hermione.

_-Confident you and Draco won't kill each other?_

Hermione glanced at him, but he was taking down notes. She dipped her quill and replied.

_-Positive. Don't you trust him?_

She conveyed the message and waited. When Blaise finally returned the parchment, she had already finished half of her paraphrase for the translation.

_-I trust him. But you have a strong history. Draco respects your intelligence._

_-Do you always talk about me? Thanks for the tip._

_-We speculate about you. Best witch of our year, how could we not? Especially in view of the Heads appointment._

She didn't know what to say to that, so she just nodded. Nonetheless, Blaise wrote something else.

_-Who was supposed to be Head Girl, if you had refused?_

_-Padma Patil. If Malfoy had backed out?_

"Yours truly," he whispered with a smirk.

-_How come Malfoy gets better grades than you do?_

_-We scored the same. My family couldn't care less if I was made Head Boy, but Draco's would. I'm second-choice Head Boy, he says._

Hermione looked at him, but ceased to answer. Class was almost over and she started to pack her things up while Professor Babbling dictated their homework.

She was pondering Blaise's words. What if she had refused? Being Head Girl meant everything to her, but the recent developments in her life would have been reason enough to turn down the job. Something was missing now, normality perhaps? Hermione was never going to wake up without a worry in her life again; her ordinary Muggle-born existence had been tainted long before her birth.

She couldn't have written _that_ to him.


	3. In the dungeons

**In The Dungeons**

_"Every form of addiction is bad, no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol or morphine or idealism."_ – Carl Jung

* * *

The first two weeks of school had gone by and Hermione felt worn out. She had gone living in the Heads quarters with Malfoy; they only shared a common room and a bathroom, but their duties had forced them to become almost amicable towards each other.

Hermione couldn't say she was over the moon about it, but it was nice not to bicker every few minutes with someone she shared so much of her time with.

She saw Blaise everywhere now; with Draco, in Potions, History of Magic and Defence Against the Dark Arts, and on his own, in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Herbology. He acknowledged their acquaintance in passing, he didn't glare at her when she sat next to him and he was always nice to her when they crossed paths in the Heads common room.

All in all, it had been an exhausting week at Hogwarts, and when she crashed into her four-poster bed that Friday evening, Hermione felt she had never been as tired.

There was a firm knock on her door as she had been pondering a bath in the Prefects' lavatory. She sighed, stood and opened the door.

"Granger."

"I'm weary, Malfoy," she said. "Is it important?"

"Well, let me see..." he made himself comfortable in one of her armchairs. "It's Friday night, I'm giving a party, a party _you_ have already promised to attend with your friends so... No, I don't think it's important, do you?"

He was looking at her with a pointed glare.

"I had _completely_ forgotten about that!"

"That much," Malfoy said, "is obvious, but the real question is, are you coming? Because if you are I have to show you where our common room is."

Whatever weariness Hermione had felt before was wiped out by the apprehension and guilt she felt now.

"Of course I'm coming! I said I would, didn't I? What time is it?"

Malfoy smirked.

"Early," he said. "I guessed you wouldn't remember."

She looked daggers at him, but inwardly sighed in relief, and then she darted across the common room and into their bathroom, only to dash back into her room and grab the dress.

Her co-Head watched from their sofa in mute amusement.

She came out, wearing her simple black dress that Ginny had chosen because it covered her shoulders and, therefore, her tattoo. Malfoy and Ginny were speaking in the kitchen.

"Remarkable, Granger," Malfoy said upon seeing her.

Ginny wore a green V-neck sweater and a plaited skirt whose colour swapped between grey and silver; Hermione gaped at her.

"Slytherin colours?"

"It's called taste, Granger, and young Weasley here knows exactly what I'm talking about," Malfoy said.

Ginny had the decency to flush scarlet.

They left the quarters; Harry and Ron would arrive later, when they had managed to understand how two Gryffindors weren't going to be slain on the spot once into the Slytherin common room.

"How come they already know the way?"

Hermione smiled at Malfoy, reminiscing of her missed second year adventure down in the dungeons. There was no need to mention the whiskers to him, after all.

They were greeted by loud shouts and psychedelic lights on entering; the room resembled one of those disco-pubs Hermione had seen with her cousins two summers earlier.

They walked to the counter of the bar.

"Bartender!" Malfoy called, hand in the air.

Blaise Zabini turned to shake it, and then supplied a girl with her drink.

"You brought friends," he said, not looking at them.

"The more the better."

He reached for a bottle Blaise had left unchecked and took a mouthful. He extended it to the girls; Hermione shook her head, but Ginny took a swig, feeling confident. Malfoy asked the redhead to dance and they left for the dance floor.

"Are you here on your own?"

It was a Slytherin boy, a sixth-year if her memory wasn't failing her.

She nodded.

"Zabini, a Firewhisky for this beautiful lady," he said, not taking his eyes off her.

Blaise didn't look too happy to comply; even so, the drink arrived. To Hermione, the boy looked fairly innocuous; he was trying to score with someone older than him, but she had to admire him for trying.

"You are Hermione Granger, aren't you?"

She smiled. "I am, and you are?"

"Ralph Harper, at your service."

Hermione felt she was beginning to know too many Slytherin for her taste, but she enjoyed Ralph's company while it lasted. They chatted about nothing in particular, and drank several Firewhiskies. Hermione didn't hold wizard alcohol very well and by the time Ralph had left her for some other girl, she was feeling light-headed and ready to throw up.

"No, I'm sorry, no more drinks after eleven," she heard Blaise's voice say. "_No! Pansy, quando dico no è assolutamente no!_" [No! Pansy, when I say no it's absolutely not!]

"To Hell, Zabini, that's where you're headed..."

Pansy Parkinson threw a fit onto the counter and flung herself in the arms of a passing boy. That boy happened to be Harry Potter, but Hermione didn't have the time to ponder this unusual set of scenery; she was feeling very, very sick.

"You need a bed, Head Girl."

Blaise had inexplicably appeared by her side. She gaped at him; looking stupid, in her opinion.

"To-oo m-many Firewhis-skies..."

He smirked, and then he was picking her up. "I'll take you back."

But Hermione drunkenly struggled against his arms; she got on her feet, giggled and took his hand.

"Where is Ginny?"

Blaise indicated two figures arguing in the distance. Ron was pointing at a boy behind Ginny's back and – through her drunken state – Hermione knew at once her friend had let herself loose again. She looked around for Harry, but the crowded spinning room made her feel sick again. Blaise led her out of the common room, his hand clutching hers.

They reached the Heads quarters in silence and he stopped, letting go of her.

"What?"

It was the painting that answered. "Password, my lady," said the old British wizard in the picture.

"_Sapiens avis._"

The painting swung open and Blaise set foot in with her. Unfortunately, they weren't the only ones there. Hermione cried out, but Malfoy was already disentangling himself from the unknown semi-naked girl on the couch and telling her to leave.

"If you wanted Granger that much," he said once the three of them were alone. "Her bedroom is available. No need to intrude on my good time."

Hermione wanted to scowl at Malfoy, but all her strength was focused on not throwing up on Blaise's shoes.

"Good time? Your girl was drunk, Draco, couldn't you tell? She is too. Get her to bed."

"Why should I do it? Not strong enough to carry her?" Malfoy smirked. "Then again, who knows what she might hide under that pretty dress of hers?"

Hermione felt the urge to slap him hard on the face.

"Do behave for once in your life," Blaise said.

He left without a sound as Malfoy neared Hermione to escort her to her bedroom. He asked if she'd be able to change by herself and smirked when she slapped him on his forearm.

"Don't get too fond of him, Granger, he's too good to be real."

Hermione heard him, but the words felt like a light rain on her tired brain as she drifted into deep slumber.


	4. Letters

_Chapter Four_

**Letters**

**

* * *

**

The morning after the party, Hermione's head was pounding and a splitting headache inhibited her ability to communicate properly. She vaguely registered a house elf entering her bedroom with a trolley bearing a delicious English breakfast, and she thought she saw Malfoy shooing the elf away and sitting at her bedside in a paternal sort of way. He even tried to get her to eat. Until he gave her a Sobering Potion though, she couldn't make out his exact words.

"So, how are you feeling?" he was inquiring when her brain connected.

She coughed. "Better, I think."

"Good," he smirked. "I had to withstand Potter's whining all morning because _Blaise_ took an inconceivable amount of time to brew the darn potion," he looked at her, "and he's the best, mind you."

She was delighted he wasn't acting the jerk he had been the previous night. She ate something, gulped down some orange juice, and proceeded to eat some more.

"Are you done eating already?" Malfoy asked after a few minutes.

She nodded, still chewing on her toast.

With a swish of his wand, the trolley disappeared and he told her he'd let Ginny in; she had been pestering him to no end and, if they didn't mind, he had other more important business to take care of than his hangover co-Head.

He opened the door to reveal the youngest Weasley with her flaming red hair in disarray and wearing the same clothes of the previous evening. Hermione hugged her tight, and then she straightened up and took in her friend's appearance, wondering where she had slept. Ginny was beaming in the early daylight and Hermione assumed her night had been very pleasant.

They interrupted their girly chat around noon, when Ron and Harry came into the bedroom. Hermione got up to enclose her best friends in a hug. They had very interesting stories to tell about the party. The Head Girl smiled profusely, nodded on cue, laughed with and at them; however, deep inside, she felt lonely. It made her heart ache to hide from the people she loved and trusted most.

"Hey!" Ginny exclaimed suddenly. "Do you guys know what day was yesterday?"

Harry and Ron stared at her, but Hermione blanched. She had been hoping nobody would remember _this_ year.

"Hermione's birthday!" the red-headed girl squealed with delight.

"Oh, Herms," Harry said. "I'm so sorry we forgot!"

"Yeah, sorry," Ron chimed in.

They tried to make up for their memory lapse by singing _Happy Birthday_ very loudly, and not really in tune. Hermione covered her ears towards the end of the song, but she was laughing; she had just turned eighteen, but her friends were making her feel twelve again.

"Did you get anything from your parents yet?" Harry asked.

She shook her head and hid a grimace. Her parents. They had lied to her, hadn't they?

"We should get you something," Ron said. "Any book you don't already own?"

Ginny smacked him on his head.

"Guys, seriously, it's fine like this," Hermione said. "We all had fun last night, and though it wasn't exactly a birthday party, it was a party nonetheless," she smiled. "No presents, please, you gave me enough last year."

Her seventeenth birthday, having been the first one in her group of friends, had been regarded as the grand overture of all the following birthdays. Presents had flown in from all across the country and the party had been epic – that's how Ron was describing it anyway. Hermione knew that they'd come up with a small present to give her and there was no way she could stop them, but for now, for that morning, their laughter was enough.

**

* * *

**

Professor Vector was illustrating the various equations her class should apply to solve the problem she had assigned them; Hermione was taking down every single word in a futile effort at trying to take her mind off something more pressing.

It was the first week of October _(a whole month had gone by already!)_ and that day, she had awoken early. She had dressed and greeted Malfoy, lounging in their common room, on her way to meet her friends for breakfast. At precisely eight thirty-five, the owls had delivered the usual amount of post, and Calliope had brought Hermione a package.

"See?" Ginny had said. "Your parents wouldn't forget about your birthday!"

_No, they'd just send something three weeks later!_ She had thought bitterly.

Both Harry and Ron had tried to persuade her to open the package, and the letter attached to it, but Hermione had adamantly refused. She had somehow known the 'present' was meant for her eyes only, which was the reason why she was now eagerly waiting for classes to end, rush to the Heads quarters, into her room, to reveal the content of the mysterious package.

"Head Girl, is something the matter?"

She knew that voice.

Blaise Zabini.

In the week following the party, she had witnessed a minor row between Blaise and that boy who had hit on her, Ralph. And he had taken to staring at her, a lot; but Hermione had shrugged off the idea, believing he felt responsible for her over the top Firewhisky drinking while he was tending bar. It wasn't really Blaise's fault if they saw each other as often as they did; it was Malfoy's. The more time they had to spend together, the more they had come to realise they really didn't loathe each other anymore. As a result, a month into their seventh year, they had capitulated and were now on first name basis; in Draco's opinion, that qualified them as more than enemies, but still less than friends. Being friendly with Malfoy had meant crossing paths with Blaise almost every day, seen as the Head Boy invited his friend over for lunch, dinner, study sessions or just to hang out in the common room.

At first, Hermione had felt slightly uncomfortable in their presence. Her best friends had been two boys for over six years, but Draco and Blaise weren't exactly brotherly material as much as Harry and Ron were.

"I'm quite fine, thank you, Blaise."

His name on her lips always left an aftertaste of exotic. Eavesdropping on him and Malfoy talking, Hermione had learnt that Mr. Zabini was native of Italy, and Blaise, true to his heritage, regularly cursed in Italian.

"What about the package you received this morning?"

Professor Vector didn't notice them talking, but Hermione wasn't surprised: his voice was velvety.

"Have you been watching me?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the blackboard.

She knew she had spoken the forbidden question, but Blaise's reply didn't give her any insight into his true reaction to it.

"I happened to be observing you, Head Girl," he said. "What was it? Or is it a secret? I saw you stuff it in your bag as soon as possible."

Hermione put a strand of hair behind her ear and turned to look at him.

"I haven't opened it yet."

She neglected to acknowledge his second question on purpose. Blaise looked satisfied though and didn't push the matter.

When Professor Vector dismissed the class, Hermione yearned to open the enigmatic bundle in her schoolbag, but she walked disheartened to her Potions class.

Blaise dashed past her and tapped on Draco's shoulder; they exchanged an odd gesture and started walking again, chattering.

_Come on, _she told herself, _Only two more hours to lunchtime._

"Head Girl and Head Boy at my desk," Professor Snape said in his drawn out tone. "Professor McGonagall tells me you've been getting along famously," he sneered slightly.

Hermione and Draco nodded.

"Professor McGonagall," Snape continued, "has also expressed her desire to see you working together."

The Head Boy broke in sharply, "We're already arranging the Halloween Feast, sir."

"I'm aware of that," he said in a bored voice, "but the Headmaster agrees with our revered Deputy, and so, from now on, you are to be working together," he paused. "In _my_ class, at least, as I am not privy to Professor McGonagall's plans for her class."

They couldn't say anything back for Neville stepped onto his empty cauldron, prompting Snape to deduct points from Gryffindor for 'unnecessary noise'. He then flicked his wand at the blackboard, where the ingredients for a potion appeared.

_Origineserum_.

Hermione grinned and shot her arm in the air when Professor Snape asked the uses of the extract, but he – most characteristically – ignored her.

"Finnigan!" he yelled instead.

"It... Well, a wizard would use it when..."

Seamus was at a loss of words, though why that was, Hermione couldn't understand. It was a simple distillate, extremely useful if you were of pure-blood ancestry. She went over the passage of the book describing the potion in her head and was about to raise her hand once more, when she heard Seamus's voice her thoughts.

"_Origineserum_ or Distillate of Origins tracks down the lineage of one witch or wizard from her or his ancestors to the present descendants. The main constituent of the draught is liquid sulphur, hence why the potion has to be taken in small dosages. Because of its poisonous content, Dinah Dinnsworth died by overdose in the eighteenth century."

Everybody had listened in awe, but Snape took more points from Gryffindor for 'suggesting Finnigan the answer'.

Surreptitiously, Seamus explained to his classmates that he had never heard of the potion before, but that somehow he had _known_ what to say.

Hermione wanted to dissipate into thin air.

**

* * *

**

Nibbling at what remained of her lunch, Hermione didn't notice Draco and Blaise approaching the Gryffindor table until one of them tapped on her shoulder.

"You've got your vial, Hermione?" Malfoy asked.

She turned to him, and nodded.

He said he was going to practice on the Quidditch pitch while it was still available and they'd see each other in Defence. Blaise just stared at her. Hermione smiled and agreed, reminding him of their meeting with the teaching staff after dinner.

As soon as they left her, she began to gather her things frenetically; at last, she was going to be alone.

"Wish he'd stop talking to you like that," said Ron beside her.

"Like what, exactly?" she asked unconcerned.

"Like you're friends or something! Doesn't he understand he's a dimwit and always will be?"

Hermione looked at him in the eye, "He's Head Boy, Ron, he _can't_ be a dimwit."

"He's being honest, Herms," Harry started. "Hey, where are you going?" he finished when she hurried away from the table.

She said something about not liking the nickname and then dashed to the Heads quarters. She locked the door to her bedroom and collapsed onto her bed.

"Okay, now, let's see what Calliope brought me..." she said in an undertone and took the bundle out of her bag.

It was the size of a small book and for a split second Hermione thought her mother had sent her the pocket edition of _Hogwarts: A History_, newly published (she had booked it at Flourish and Blotts two months in advance). But, of course, she knew it would have been too good to be true and was careful in unwrapping it. It was in truth a small box and a tiny key was fastened to it with a blue ribbon.

Hermione turned her attention to the letter addressed to her. She recognized the handwriting right away; her mother's.

__October 1997_

_Dear Hermione,_

_Happy belated birthday, from me and from Dad too. We were somewhere in Germany for a seminar and I had no clue where to find an owl. This is a special gift, one your father doesn't know about, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it to him._

_It is a jewellery box. The ring was my mother's, but it has been in our family for as long as anyone can remember. I have always been told it was Rowena's, in fact. I know it must have come as a shock to you, to discover that I – and therefore you – am the descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw; I had hoped that once you had received the letter from Dumbledore you'd have come to me, and we could have talked about this. But you didn't, and maybe I am to blame. Don't think less of me because I kept this from you; your father never knew about my past, he wouldn't have understood. We met after I had changed my name to Crow and though I loved him, he was a Muggle, what good would it have done him knowing who I really was?_

_This gift I give to you in hope that it will help you, for the magic of the ring is strong and ancient. Use it well. The Headmaster has written to me, he says you already know about the fortune that lies in Gringotts. I gave him the key to our vault; do not hesitate to ask for it. It is an honour to be born into our family. You are lucky, Hermione, and I dare say you will meet your guardian very soon. I'd like to tell you more... I hope you will forgive me for all these years of secrecy._

_Love, Mum._

* * *

Hermione set the letter aside.

It had made her blood boil and she tore the paper surrounding the jewellery box with violence. Her mother was a liar. In her younger years, Hermione had more than once realized that there had been little white lies that her parents had told her to keep her quiet, but _this_? This was a whole new level of deception. She decided right then and there that she wouldn't reply, no matter how curious the whole letter had made her.

She took the ring out of the box and inspected it. She had never been a fan of jewellery, but the silver band in her hands caught her rapt attention. The ring had an amethyst on top and silver strings circled around it; the stone glimmered in the dim light of her bedroom. Hermione slipped it on and stared at her hand for a moment. _Why is it always a ring?_ she wondered. It was a small band and it looked inconspicuous enough on her slim finger, but it gave her confidence. She breathed slowly. Hermione knew she'd get a hold of her magic sooner with the ring, she just knew.

Her eyes fell on her mother's letter and she hardened her gaze. Of course she hadn't gone to talk to her that summer! She had just found out she was the direct descendant of one of the Four Founders' of Hogwarts, when she had thought herself to be a Muggle-born witch for six years and a plain Muggle girl for eleven years; what did her mother expect?

Hermione shrieked.

The small lamp above her bed had burst into tiny pieces of glass.

**

* * *

**

End of fourth chapter.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: (2009)** I realised that I've never asked my readers if they were okay with the revelation about Hermione's past being so late into the story. Please, I encourage you to tell me if the timing doesn't feel right to you.


	5. Magic

_Chapter Five_

**Magic**

**

* * *

**

Though Malfoy had told Professor Snape that they were already organising the Halloween Feast, as a matter of fact, they weren't. When it came to Heads meetings, Draco Malfoy was an extremely lazy Head Boy and Hermione didn't feel like doing everything herself.

She was still fuming about their last altercation while patrolling the halls on a quiet Wednesday night. But there was a basic idea that had been dancing in her head for the last five minutes.

_A masquerade. __And nobody is to reveal themselves before midnight. _

It wasn't much, but truth to be told, she found it hard to concentrate lately. Ring or no ring, her outbursts of impromptu magic were starting to become a real issue. In addition, she was Head Girl and it was her seventh year; she just had no time to focus on her _side project_.

The Halloween Feast had to be a way to ease the tension the War had left on everybody. She cringed remembering what she had had to endure last year while her schoolmates busied themselves at Hogwarts. She had had to go – that was what she had said to her parents when she had gone hunting down Voldemort with Harry and Ron. The others had been there in the end, but she didn't like thinking about it; it'd mean replaying the deaths in her head over and over again. It wasn't healthy.

Her train of thoughts halted abruptly at the sound of something fluttering in the air.

Her eyes darted in every direction, but the only thing she saw was a white feather on the floor. It had fallen in front of a very old looking door. Hermione couldn't hear anything through the thick wood; she sighed and looked at the feather again. She almost hoped it could tell her something useful, but it only diverted her attention long enough for her not to notice the door slam open.

Her Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and Blaise Zabini hurried out of the room running over her in the process.

She smashed onto the hard floor and fought back a yelp of pain.

"Merlin, Miss Granger! Can you stand?" Professor Mackintosh exclaimed, helping her up.

Hermione nodded and glimpsed at her Slytherin schoolmate; he was looking rather pale and his eyes were unusually wide.

They didn't explain what they were doing, but she didn't feel like asking due to the sharp pain in her head. Professor Mackintosh stated that the Head Boy shouldn't be allowing a young witch to wander alone at night, even if that witch was the Head Girl.

_As if Malfoy would even listen to me_, Hermione thought once she was on her own again.

**

* * *

**

She sat with her legs crossed and concentrated hard on the tiny little cup in front of her.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The tiny piece of pottery hovered in mid-air for a few seconds, but as soon as Hermione blinked, it fell on the floor.

She sighed.

She had guessed that – just like regular magic – she'd have to start from the basics for wandless magic. Levitation had been the simplest charms she could think of, but with no wand to direct her, she had to double the effort to keep the cup hovering. And she wasn't twelve anymore; she didn't have the stamina.

"_Wingardium Leviosa,_" she tried again.

The cup fell after a whole minute this time and Hermione smiled optimistically.

"Ah, you're here!"

Harry and Ron had walked into the empty classroom she had been using for practice.

"You're going to miss dinner if you don't hurry, Herms," said Harry, adjusting his glasses.

Ron's stomach growled and she got up, laughing.

"Is there any other reason why you climbed all the way here?"

She wondered if they had gotten into trouble; perhaps Malfoy had come across them during patrol and they were in desperate need of her help to get out of some dire detention the Head Boy had levied on them

"Yes," said Ron eagerly. "How are the plans for Halloween coming along?"

Hermione chuckled, but she was suddenly reminded of her late-night encounter with Blaise.

"Jury's still out on that," she said.

She picked up the cup and left with them.

Once in the Great Hall, she wanted to tell Ginny all about her experiment, but she knew she had to pay careful attention that nobody understood what she was talking about.

She began cutting her beefsteak and, with nonchalance, elbowed her friend.

"I levitated a cup," she stated.

Ginny all but squealed.

Neville, who sat next to her, looked at them strangely for a moment.

"With your wand, _of course,_" the redhead insinuated.

"_Of course,_" Hermione answered in the same tone.

"So nothing special about it."

Ginny tried to conceal her excitement and she almost managed to, but then sent an egg flying in Harry's plate, who wasn't pleased. Hermione chuckled and shrugged, dipping into the potatoes dish with her spoon.

"I'll show you some other time," she said.

Her eyes wandered down the Gryffindor table to linger on several of her housemates. Lavender was actively conversing with Sophie Roper, though every once in a while she stole glances at her boyfriend, Seamus, across the table. Parvati, who had already heard Lavender's tale if one went with the bored look on her face, exchanged random comments with whoever was sitting next to her; Hermione couldn't be sure who it was. It was instead beyond doubt who the witch speaking in a loud, dramatic voice was; Romilda Vane was animatedly chatting with her roommate, fifth-year Vicky Frobisher, and that awkward kid in fourth year, Euan Abercrombie.

Hermione sighed.

Since she had unconsciously helped Seamus in class, she had avoided close contacts with any other student, and it hadn't helped much. She had caused several mishaps and until she felt she could control her magic, she'd have to limit her interactions with the rest of student body.

She diverted her attention to the Hufflepuff table, where she spotted Wayne sitting crosswise Ernie Macmillan. He was laughing at a joke his friend had made. At the Ravenclaw table, Luna was airily chatting with Anthony Goldstein and her Arithmancy partner, Mandy Brocklehurst, was passing notes with Padma. They all looked carefree.

Hermione, on the other hand, had been Head Girl for a month and a week, and she hadn't even accomplished to arrange a centuries-old celebration. She was the heir of Rowena Ravenclaw, and she didn't have the slightest idea of what she was supposed to do about it. She had magical skills that she was at a loss on how to use. She was to meet some kind of guardian, but nobody had deemed it important to explain the terms of that to her. What annoyed her most was her incapacity to have all the aspects of her existence to coexist.

Whenever she focused on her wandless magic, her academic duties plummeted, but as soon as she addressed her studies, magical surges occurred. She was decidedly messed up.

"Herms," Harry called from her left, "are you still with us?"

Hermione cringed at the nickname.

"Will you stop calling me that?" she asked, trying to sound inoffensive.

She didn't need a row with one of her best friends right now.

"It's cute," she heard him answer and was astounded.

Harry Potter, big red-blooded wizarding world hero, knew the existence of such a word and dared to use it.

"It's extremely degrading," she replied. "Percy used to pet his owl with that name."

These were the moments when she felt they hadn't grown up and that she was only wasting her time with them. Harry had fought bravely in the war but his reckless attitude had almost forfeited his life. Ron never ceased to amaze her with his constant need to differ from her opinion while she always tried to respect his thoughts even when she didn't understand them. How could such different people be friends? The only link between Harry and her was they had been raised the Muggle way, and that was shared with half the Hogwarts population.

_There must be something else!_

Hermione's mind nearly screamed and she watched as many faces in the Great Hall showed pained expressions.

"Think quietly, for Merlin's sake!" Ginny whispered, covering her ears.

Hermione wished she could yell at everybody to bloody learn Occlumency and leave her alone, but the best she could do was get up and whisk out of the Hall.

**

* * *

**

They had been looking at each other for half an hour, without coming up with something interesting to propose. Draco had probably given up long before Hermione had, and now they were just making no progress. She sighed in annoyance and looked at the parchment on the table; not one word was written upon it.

"It's ridiculous we can't think of something," she said.

"You spoke about some masquerade, didn't you? Seemed like a good idea."

He shifted in his chair.

"You're joking right? Draco Malfoy! You said it was shabby no less than an hour ago!"

"Changed my mind since we can't come up with anything else," he said unperturbed.

Hermione waved at him in attempt to subdue her itch to strangle him.

"Okay, then we agree a masquerade it's for the best," she said instead, "Ginny told me about some new wizard band yesterday, would they be okay for the musical entertainment? I think their name is Fwoopers or some other beast –"

Draco interrupted her, "They're phenomenal!" he blurted out. "Good thinking, Hermione!"

"Well, thanks, I guess," she said slowly. "What about the masks? Any restrictions?" she pushed, glad they were moving ahead.

He seemed to think it over, then said costumes could be only famous witches or wizards.

"You know, Wendelin the Weird, Merlin... Maybe we should have a register so that there can't be eighty Paracelsus... I might go as the Bloody Baron!"

He was overly enthusiastic about the whole thing; Hermione couldn't help a smile.

"Gee, Malfoy, get a grip!" Hermione joked. "All settled then?"

"Yes, that's about it," he agreed. "Snape said teachers will take care of the food so we let the teachers know our idea and we're off the hook."

"That's a relief."

She got up from her chair and looked at her watch. It was late, and the next day was a dreaded Monday, so she adjourned their meeting (a policy that Draco had no qualms making fun of) and withdrew into her own room. She was about to call it a night, when the Head Boy knocked on her door; Ginny was asking for her.

"I'm sorry about dinner last night," Hermione whispered once they were alone.

Ginny nodded, "You really should learn to keep that mind thing in check though," she said. "My eardrums still hurt a bit."

"It's hard," she replied, "I need to practice, but there's just so much I can do on my own. Besides, I have to study, it's my NEWTs year."

"I'll help," the redhead said with glee, "Say, every day after classes in your room?"

"Ginny... Every day sounds a bit excessive, and I don't want to use you"

"Oh, come on, what are friends for? Okay, so maybe not every day, but twice a week? How does that sound?"

Hermione hugged her friend instead of answering. She knew she had been right in trusting Ginny; without someone to help her out, being Rowena Ravenclaw's heir might have driven her into despair. But now, now her heritage could take a rest.

**

* * *

**

End of fifth chapter.


	6. Peculiarities

_Chapter Six_

**Peculiarities**

**

* * *

**

Dawn painted the sky a light peach colour, streaked in blue where the mountains touched the skyline. A beautiful sight, but nobody was awake to witness the fading moment in which the Hogwarts castle appeared in its full magnificence. It was only hours later that Hermione Granger opened her eyes; her hair ruffled on the pillow of her Head Girl bedroom. She glanced at the clock and slowly got up, making her way to the huge wardrobe the school had provided her with. Upon opening it, she sleepily reminded herself to buy some new clothes on their next Hogsmeade weekend. She picked out something warm for the long day ahead and quietly made her way to the Heads bathroom; after a quick hot shower, Hermione tried to tame her locks with the umpteenth styling charm. It was no use. She put her clothes on and went back into her room after checking if Draco was up in the common room. Not surprisingly, he wasn't. Hermione grabbed her schoolbag, shoved her stock of books inside it and left the Heads quarters for breakfast in the Great Hall; she didn't even bother passing by Gryffindor Tower as she knew perfectly well her friends would be still fast asleep at that hour.

When she finally sat down, she saw she wasn't the only one up early; there were some Ravenclaws in the distance, two talkative Hufflepuffs and a solitary Blaise Zabini at the Slytherin table. She herself was in the company of two fifth years she didn't recognise and didn't pain her stomach by trying to set up a conversation with; instead, she grabbed a muffin speckled with blueberries and an empty cup. She filled it with hot milk and blended some sugar in it before adding coffee. Hermione sipped the content at a leisurely pace and as the caffeine took effect on her drowsy system, the reality of being only a week away from the Halloween Feast started to sink in. She hadn't come up with any historical character she might be inclined to dress up as.

"You should go as Rowena," Ginny had said.

She was running out of options, to be completely honest, so her friend's idea was beginning to make sense. The irony of going as herself. She inwardly laughed and wondered who Malfoy was going as; perhaps Salazar.

_And Blaise?_

She glanced at him across the Hall. Although she had seen him almost as often as she had seen Harry and Ron lately, she didn't have a single clue which famous wizard he could be going as.

"Che sarà sarà," she sang under her breath.

_Whatever will be will be, _in Italian – or at least she thought they were Italian. She had learnt them in southern France, where she had gone with her parents, years before. The words had a beautiful sound; they rolled off her tongue as easily as Blaise's name did.

Hermione shook her head. She had to stop comparing everything to the dark-haired Slytherin. A look at her wristwatch told her she had plenty of time to get to the library and research Rowena Ravenclaw before class. She had considered reading about the Founder she descended from, but until then, she had experienced a strange feeling of foreboding at the idea. She walked swiftly towards the library, hoping she had been wrong.

Madam Pince greeted her with a curt nod, and then turned back to the book she was reading. Hermione wandered towards the historical section and browsed the shelves for a while. She knew where every book stood almost by heart, so it was a quick scan and she found was she was looking for.

_Peculiarities of the Four Founders_ by Zobedja Zorcas.

She sat at the nearest table.

As she was scanning the tarnished pages of the old hardback, Hermione's mind was sidetracked to the white feather she had found. It was soft and felt like a goose quill in her hands; it reminded her of the feathers sticking out of her winter jacket, but this was longer and fluffier. _Fluffier_, she thought with a smile. That ordinary feather was haunting her; she just couldn't stop brooding about it. Did it hold a message for her? It was pointless to keep racking her brains over it.

A promising paragraph caught her eye.

_**Ravenclaw's Riddle**_

__Madam Ravenclaw – whose wit was beyond anybody's guess (the author included) – was a very avid reader of mystery novels. She would engage her disciples in multiple activities meant to sharpen their acumen; she would place hints in textbooks, would scatter clues around the Castle and the Grounds and would reward the winner with even more difficult puzzles. Most renown is the incident relating to her enigmatic quote:_

'_When lilac and nought meet in the round,_

_the stone from the chains shall be unbound.'_

_None of her pupils was able to unravel the mystery, though to each who tried, Madam Ravenclaw presented one of her daughters' drawings of an angel. Scholars have been thus inclined to deem the Founder a genuine Christian, but no proof other than the sketch of a ten-year-old girl supports the theory. We may never know for sure whom the Raven of Hogwarts thought would unbind this mysterious stone, but it's clear she believed in this kind of magic very strongly and that might be the reason why she never bent to the Dark Side. That is to say that..._

The passage went on, but Hermione stopped reading to focus.

The drawing. Zorcas, in the caption, asserted it probably represented a fairy more than an angel. That couldn't be right, in her opinion. The artwork of Rowena's daughter had evidently been misinterpreted both ways.

The riddle. Hermione stared at the words and could make nothing of them. The wording was elliptical, the meaning left her baffled. She sought an answer to her woes and felt utterly stupid, since she was placing unspoken doubts to an old book. She resolved in closing it.

_It doesn't make any sense,_ thought Hermione, trying to be quiet in her reflections.

"What doesn't make any sense?" said someone from behind her.

She spun round, only to find Blaise staring at her.

His eyes blinked three times before Hermione snapped out of her reverie to reply.

"You heard me?"

The only logical question came to her.

He grinned, and she established that couldn't be considered as a good sign. He took a seat next to her and lowered his voice.

"It was hard not to," he said. "You should practice more."

She opened her mouth aghast, but said nothing in the end. It was several moments before either of them spoke, but eventually Blaise urged her to hurry if she didn't want to be late for Arithmancy and Hermione merely nodded. Her mind was a whirlwind of blurred hypothesis. Nobody had ever exactly _heard_ what she was thinking; Seamus had rather assimilated the information from her, and every other time people had been hurt by her thoughts. Ginny, in their private sessions, always complained about it. So why Blaise? Why would he hear her and understand what she was thinking? She walked behind him until they reached the classroom, but she didn't have the guts to sit next to him; she waved at Mandy and joined her in the front row.

Blaise was an odd guy, to her. He had sat with Theodore Nott, thoroughly ignoring her. Nonetheless, Hermione kept on wondering about him. Since she had started causing _mishaps_ because of her magic, nobody had ever realised she was the one behind it; the professors, she had been told by the Headmaster in yet another letter, had been informed, but not one of them had uttered a single word to her on the subject. Maybe they had been forbidden from doing so, but at least from Professor McGonagall, Hermione had expected _something_. Blaise, on the contrary, hadn't had any qualms about confronting her. He had clearly realised straight away that she had been the source.

She glanced at his back sideways and tuned out Professor Vector for a moment to study him. They had spent three years side by side and only once had she acknowledged his presence.

_Professor Vector had smiled at her approvingly._

"_Why don't you move on something more complex, Miss Granger?"_

_After all, Hermione had just finished a very difficult looking problem and had looked disposed to a challenge. In fact, she had nodded and had let her teacher lead her to the other top student of the class._

"_Kindly work together and complete this series of sums and subtractions, see what you make of them." _

_She had left the two students alone and had sat behind her desk. They had looked at each other silently, wondering where to begin. Hermione had been the first to speak._

"_I'm sorry, I can't quite place you. What's your name?" _

_She had kept her voice low, hoping he would hear nonetheless, and he had._

"_Blaise Zabini," he had said._

_She had nodded in response because she hadn't recognised the name; she had never heard of him before._

And that had been the first and only time they had spoken. Funny how she still remembered it so vividly two years later.

His back was turned to her and she could admire his broad shoulders, his short jet-black hair as well as his restless head, which kept upping and downing to listen to Professor Vector and to scribble notes. Some loose strands of hair were hiding his eyes, but she didn't care; she had seen enough of them in the past two months to know what they looked like.

It was all due to her growing acquaintance with Draco that she had come to see more and more of Blaise. Hermione paused in her note taking to reflect on her association with Malfoy. It was a murky path they were walking, but when the thought crossed her mind, she recalled Professor McGonagall's words about inter-house unity – though she knew the truth was far from that. Over a month had passed from the party in the Slytherin common room and Draco and Hermione had developed a sort of quiet friendship; quiet as in they both denied it, even to themselves. Her fellow Gryffindors just wouldn't appreciate her being friends with _him_, and his housemates would reciprocate about _her_. Yet, Draco Malfoy had the typical British sense of humour, which caused his arguments with Hermione to stir her need for intelligent interaction. The few times she had spoke more than a few words with Blaise, she had found him to be as quick-witted as his blond friend and she found it enticing how they could entertain a battle of wits every time they interacted.

Maybe it was just her imagination.

She forced her eyes onto the cover of her Arithmancy book. It was a dark blue colour with golden words embroidered: _Numerology and Grammatica, N.E.W.T. level_. She loved that book _(many pages were dog-eared)_ because it was a stout reminder of the life she had led before; a simple bookish life in the shadow of the Boy-Who-Lived, whereas right now all she could think of was her maddening situation. She had tried to deny the evidence and had failed miserably, so she had settled for not worrying about it. If her Ravenclaw ancestry meant more than a few outburst of magic in class, she would have been told and that was enough to keep her sane at least.

She shifted her gaze onto Blaise once more; his interest in her person, the month before, had given her the creeps.

Like her tattoo.

Hermione rubbed her shoulder where she knew the mark was and tried to overcome the feeling she had been branded against her free will; she _really_ tried to think of her situation as a lucky one, as Ginny had asked her multiple times, but the flowery tattoo was a constant reminder of how exploited she felt.

"Miss Granger! Are you ill?"

Professor Vector's voice.

She looked up and attempted to say she was okay, but her eyes watered and the teacher noticed.

"Mister Zabini, kindly escort our Head Girl to her rooms, I believe she needs some rest," Professor Vector said after a moment.

Hermione saw Blaise getting up, and she wanted to shout that she was fine, that she didn't need anyone's help, but she was defeated by how miserable she felt.

Later that day, she wouldn't even have remembered the walk back to the Heads quarters.

**

* * *

**

Hermione woke up in her bedroom around two o'clock, when Malfoy banged on her door to remind her of their meeting with the teaching staff. She got up irritably and almost swore aloud when she realised that she had skipped lunch.

She opened the door, which her co-Head was still launching himself on.

"Where the _heck_ have you been, Granger? I've been looking for you _everywhere_!" he thundered as she let him inside.

Hermione chose not to answer and moved in front of her full-length mirror. Her hair looked like she had just been duelling with Medusa, the Greek monster with snake hair, and her face showed how much she had cried, which was a lot.

Overall, a makeover was in order.

"Are you going to stare at yourself all _bloody_ day?"

His voice had risen to its highest peak. She understood he could be nervous, or upset, or whatever but _honestly_, did he want to deafen her?

"I'm going to get ready for the meeting so, if you don't mind," she had tried to keep her temper in check. "I'd rather not _Evanesco_ you out of my room."

She knew at once what would happen if her anger rose and she wasn't about to _Reparo_ another lamp.

_Relax,_ she told herself, _Remember your sessions with Ginny_.

They had been practicing for a week and Hermione had improved greatly, but Malfoy kept testing her unintentionally; at that moment, the smug smirk on his face was definitely aggravating.

"You're getting more and more Slytherin by the day, I'm starting to worry."

He was out before she could hex him.

She heard him laugh and couldn't help but wonder with a small smile, what would a world without Malfoy be?

**

* * *

**

End of sixth chapter.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: (2005-02-22)** As _**tal kyr**_ kindly pointed out, the phrase Hermione says at the beginning of the chapter is said wrong. Though the original is _'Que sera sera'_ in French, Hermione speaks neither Italian nor French. Therefore, she supposes the song to be Italian but she is clearly mistaken... I'm sorry not to have said it earlier.


	7. Hogsmeade

_Chapter Seven_

**Hogsmeade**

**

* * *

**

As the last weekend before the Feast drew near, Hermione and Draco's disagreements had grown out of proportion. It had all started after the infamous meeting with the teaching staff, nearly two weeks earlier; Professor McGonagall had been about to send them all off to their rooms, when the Headmaster had asked for a few more minutes with the Heads. The news hadn't been pleasant; the Head Boy was supposed to chaperone the Head Girl for such an event.

Hermione could still see Draco's eyes flash with ire in her mind.

That night though, she had tried to act as a moderator.

"Perhaps Draco had other plans for the ball, Professor," she had cautiously said, looking over at Professor McGonagall for approval.

Professor Dumbledore had smiled, "Even I cannot bend the rules, Miss Granger, and I suggest Mister Malfoy gets accustomed to the idea."

She had wanted to object, but had been afraid to step out of line and then, the Headmaster had swiftly dismissed the meeting and she had been left with a seething Malfoy back to their quarters.

That Friday afternoon, as they walked back to the southern part of the Castle, he was acting no different. He didn't utter a single word, but once inside their common room, he exploded. He started by calling Dumbledore such names Hermione stuffed her ears with her fingers as he screamed at the top of his lungs. He claimed he had never even wanted to come to Hogwarts in the first place, his place was at Durmstrang; at some point he professed that Beauxbatons would have done too. He rambled about independence, privileges, and free will.

_He's lucky the walls are soundproof_, Hermione thought.

"Who were you going with?" she asked, when he collapsed on the couch, finally worn out.

She had wanted to ask him for a while, because her past experiences with boys told her he would never acknowledge he had been so vexed about the whole ordeal due to the other girl he had wanted to take, even if, in fact, that was exactly how he felt.

He mumbled something unintelligible, and she sighed. She sat down next to him.

"Anqi Chang," he said after a while.

Hermione grinned.

He was talking about Cho Chang's little sister, as bright and beautiful as her sibling, if not more – though not as good an athlete, judging by how often her name came up in jest among the Gryffindor Quidditch players.

"And now you're stuck with me," Hermione said. "How depressing."

Draco snorted, "I never said you were ugly, Granger."

He turned to stare at her.

It was one of those moments she had read about in the trashy romance novels her cousins had dared her to read; she wondered if she should test that theory, she asked herself if he was putting on an act just to watch her fall. But no, their association didn't include casual teasing; Hermione got her head around the notion that she was staring to imagine things.

"Just so our costumes don't clash," she said, "who's your famous wizard?"

She had a fairly good idea of what his answer might be.

"Slytherin," he stated matter-of-factly. "How about you? Morgana's already taken, so who will it be?"

Hermione didn't answer, and when Draco pressed her to reveal it, she ran for her life and hid in her room. She felt a little bad for him _(and his date)_, but not enough to lay her cards on the table. She sat down at her desk to twirl the white feather in her hands.

"Hermione!" Ginny's voice came from behind the closed door, "Can I come in?"

The Head Girl rested her head into her hands and tried not to get all worked up. Why was it that she couldn't be left alone for ten continuous minutes without being interrupted?

"Yeah, door's open," she said.

Ginny sauntered inside the room, smiling in her typical breezy way, but that smile faltered a little at the look on Hermione's face.

"I'm here from practice, remember? What's the dark look for?"

She chose not to answer and merely waved her hand, as she got ready for their training session. She had been serious about it as much as she had been for the D.A. meetings in her fifth year. On the other hand, Ginny took it as a pastime, but Hermione was glad because her friend's laughs were what kept her going.

"Have we already covered the Full Body-Bind Curse?" she asked, business-like.

"You didn't manage it very well last time, we should try some more," Ginny said.

Hermione caught the look of concern in her friend's eyes, but as she said the incantation _('Petrificus Totalus'), _the caring gaze froze on Ginny's face and she tumbled on the bed cover.

**

* * *

**

Her History of Magic essay lay forgotten on Hermione's desk. She brought a hand to her chest, around the spot where Dolohov's curse had hit her, and checked that her breathing was normal; she had been thinking about the War. The spell the now deceased Death Eater had cast upon her in the Department of Mysteries had never quite ceased to haunt her and during the hunt for Voldemort, her uneven breathing had caused her many troubles. Harry and Ron, whole and sound, kept hurrying her; too worried to notice she was choking behind. That was when she had discovered the true friendship that lay between her and Ginny; because the young Weasley girl had been the one to slow down and help her keep pace.

The air had been particularly chilly on that February afternoon. Harry, needless to say, had wanted to go on his own; he had chose to let his guard down and peer into Voldemort's mind. It had been the beginning of the end because nobody had till then realised just how close the Dark Side was getting to them, to Hogwarts. Hermione remembered Harry's frenzied summary of what he had glimpsed, and one thing had stood out: Riddle House in Little Hangleton. He had recognised it at once and hadn't wanted to waste any time. He had said how important it was for him to get there as soon as possible, alone.

Hermione picked up her quill to stop herself from obsessing over something that was deep into her and everyone else's past now. She looked around her bedroom.

It was as tidy as it was expected out of her, but she knew what mess hid inside her drawers and behind the doors of her wardrobe. It wasn't neat, at all. Her eyes fell on her wand, resting on her bedside-table, and she dimly realised how little she would be using it in the future. Once she mastered her wandless magic, she'd have it just for show. It wasn't fair to her elegant wand and for a moment, on that autumnal Saturday, she wondered how her life would have been without the knowledge that she was, in fact, the heir of Ravenclaw.

Hermione got up and went into the common room, where her co-Head was predictably lounging.

"Hi, Hermione," Draco said, glancing up at her from his book.

It was still strange and unusual, to address each other with such familiarity, but they had become close acquaintances in the last three weeks and it was just right to acknowledge it.

"Up here all alone?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Blaise won't be long."

She sat next to him, inquiring about his date with the Chang girl.

"She almost cried," he said flippantly. "Her chances to be seen with the crème de la crop have been ruined, after all."

"Would you be the crème de la crop?" Hermione asked mockingly, "I wonder where you get such ideas at times."

He smirked at her, as usual.

"Mark my words, Hermione, I require your dress to be appropriate."

He didn't even need to try to sound aristocratic; it came as natural as breathing to him.

"I won't lower my standards for you," he added.

"I wouldn't dream of it, _Draco,_" she purred and noticed his slight jump with delight.

So she _did_ have some sort of effect on him!

They portrait of the old British wizard notified the presence of one Blaise Zabini at the entrance of the Heads quarters. Draco glanced at her sideways before letting him in.

"And the Head Girl is also here," Blaise was saying when Hermione's eyes finally set on his.

The Head Boy sniggered, "Courting is out of fashion, my friend."

"_My_ father thinks otherwise."

Hermione instantly knew he had chosen the wrong set of words.

It was no secret Lucius Malfoy had been shoved back in Azkaban, notwithstanding the role his family had had in the defeat of the Dark Lord. It was also widely gossiped that life at Malfoy Manor had since ceased to be the glittering festival it had once been; Narcissa kept a strict lifestyle that she intransigently obliged the rest of her household to follow, namely her son.

Hermione had stopped reading the updates on their grim situation months before, but rumours had a life of their own and she was aware of how unbearable the Malfoy regime had become.

She looked from one boy to the other; worried that Draco might harm even his best friend if upset. However, something she was completely unprepared for happened. Draco's lips, a thin line since Blaise had uttered the appalling remark, relaxed and the two boys smirked at each other, as if they were sharing a joke known only to them. Blaise crossed the distance between him and Draco, and they hugged.

Hermione sat thunderstruck. And her reaction did not waver even when she recounted the event later that morning in the Gryffindor Tower. Ginny, on the other hand, laughed mercilessly. At her.

"Can you imagine how creepy that was? _Malfoy_, honestly!" Hermione argued.

Ginny looked about to burst in another fit of laughter.

"Just because you never see Harry and Ron hugging, it doesn't mean it's abnormal for other boys to do it," she managed to say, "Guys need to express their feelings too."

As soon as she stopped speaking, Ginny couldn't hold herself anymore. Her giggles were heard throughout the common room and a few Gryffindors turned to stare at them.

"Are you ever going to stop?" Hermione asked glancing around.

Ginny tried to calm down and, red as ever, she inquired about her costume for the Feast.

"It's next Friday you know," she went on to say, "I could help you! It could be fun!"

While the redhead refused to reveal who she was going as, she really had no doubt Hermione would be Rowena Ravenclaw. They lowered their voices to talk about what they were going to buy that afternoon in Hogsmeade; the Headmaster had allowed them to visit the village on the following day too, if that afternoon didn't prove to be enough. He was probably right, judging by the several feet long list Lavender and Parvati had compiled.

The Spanish Inquisition led by Ginny onto Hermione came to a halt, when Harry and Ron arrived back from Quidditch practice, muddy and angry-looking.

"Those kids will never learn," Harry huffed as he collapsed in his favourite armchair.

Hermione cast a quick cleaning spell on her friends and attempted to look interested.

"You're right, mate," Ron said, leaning their broomsticks against the wall, "Fred and George are bloody matchless."

"You're talking about Jimmy and Ritchie again, aren't you?" Ginny said.

After Harry had regained his role as Seeker, the youngest Weasley had gladly accepted to become a Chaser, but she had point-blank refused to train on a Saturday.

Harry sighed, "Hopeless pair, I tell you."

"I agree," said Ron, "Ritchie bloody needs his bloody glasses replaced every five bloody minutes because Jimmy keeps sending the bloody Bludgers at him!"

"You were hopeless too, Ronald, don't you forget," Ginny countered.

_That's what I thought too_, Hermione mused.

Brother and sister stared at each other angrily, but it was Ron who gave in first, leaving for the boys' dormitory.

"I almost miss when you two argued, you know," Harry said to Hermione. "At least it wasn't about Quidditch."

"He's a conceited prat," Ginny muttered when the Boy-Who-Lived left the common room too.

"Who, Harry?"

Ginny blushed, "No! Not him, Ron!"

"No need to get all defensive on me, Ginny."

Hermione would have had to be blind not to notice the glances Harry and Ginny stole at each other. The War had delayed whatever romance could have blossomed between them, but now the wizarding world was at peace and maybe they had both reconsidered their feelings for the other. There were only so many secrets you could hide at Hogwarts.

**

* * *

**

Hermione checked her outfit one last time in the mirror.

"At least I look pretty," she said, pirouetting.

Her hair was worked into a braid, courtesy of Ginevra Weasley, and she wore a pair of dark blue jeans and a wool turtleneck pullover to keep warm. Hermione grabbed her purse and left the Heads quarters; she was to meet Draco in the Entrance Hall, where they'd serve their Heads duties before enjoying the Hogsmeade weekend themselves.

"Where are Potter and Weasley?" he asked when she approached him.

"Harry said something about a Quidditch meeting," she answered. "Then I'm going shopping without the boys. Care to join Ginny and me?"

"I'd rather not, thank you."

He started addressing a group of third-years towards the exit; he took the documents out of his pocket while Hermione jogged up to him.

"Isn't Blaise coming with us, Draco?" she asked while he checked some permission slips.

"Actually I don't know," he replied. "He was still sleeping ten minutes ago," he smirked wickedly. "Why?"

Hermione knew perfectly well that wasn't some random question; Draco seemed to think something was going on between her and Blaise.

She smiled warmly, not answering at all, and when they had finished checking the younger years out, they climbed into a carriage and chatted until they reached their destination.

"I tell you, a nine in Social is the best."

Hermione was talking about her Social number in Arithmancy figures, and Draco, who didn't take the subject, looked very interested nevertheless.

They reprimanded a few first-years upon their arrival in the village and then proceeded to the Three Broomsticks. Nowadays, Delilah Donovan, Madame Rosmerta's niece, led it; her beauty had charmed many of the older Hogwarts students already. They had been sitting for less than three minutes, but she supplied their drinks before anyone else; it was excessively obvious that she had a small crush on the Head Boy.

"Girls are at my feet," Draco asserted, sipping his drink.

Strawberry Paradise, one of the novelties introduced at the Three Broomsticks; fresh strawberries buried in a never-ending milk ice cream.

"You should ask her out," Hermione suggested, dipping her spoon in her cup.

Delilah's Flying Mint; _'an explosion of mint bubbles in your mouth', _as it was advertised.

Draco waved his hand theatrically. She had come to learn what the gesture meant; he didn't like where the conversation was heading.

Twenty minutes into their drinks, Blaise entered the inn and marched up to their table.

"Draco! Where were you?"

He rested a hand on his friend's shoulder and Hermione felt tension in the air.

"Been here the whole time, haven't we, Hermione?"

She nodded and smiled at the other Slytherin, who finally seemed to realise she was there as well. He sat down and started talking about something concerning Slytherin house to Draco, so that Hermione gladly let her thoughts stray. She knew it was risky, because Blaise had proved to be able to hear her, but he seemed too preoccupied with his housemate to mind her. Once the Quidditch meeting was over, Ginny would join her and they'd set off to buy their dresses for the Feast and even if the prospect of shopping didn't move her like shopping for books, Hermione felt cheerful and light-hearted. In the past week, she had done remarkably well in keeping her magic in check and she had agreed to start on something more challenging the following week. Ginny had been overjoyed at the prospect and Hermione couldn't blame her; she was becoming very, very good at Charms because they practiced so much in their spare time. Moreover, she was _bound_ to score on Harry at the Halloween Feast. Hermione wasn't fooled by The-Boy-Who-Lived's cool attitude towards the redhead and Ginny's nonchalance when the subject turned to the Potter boy. Something was going on and Hermione suspected Quidditch had something, if not everything, to do with it.

"Can I bring you anything?" Delilah asked in her sweet voice, tossing nervous glances at Draco.

Blaise ordered a glass of cherry syrup and soda, just as the front door that opened to reveal the flaming mane of a very much flustered Weasley girl.

"Hey everyone!" she greeted.

Hermione saw Draco fight the urge to smirk.

Ginny looked like she had just taken part in the New York Marathon, or alternatively, like she had just been snogging someone, and there was little doubt as to which described what had actually happened.

"_Quidditch_ meeting, Ginny?" Hermione inquired with a small smirk of her own.

"Of course! What else?" Ginny said, unaware of the stares. "Well, come on, we need clothes!"

Hermione took one last gulp of Flying Mint.

"Coming!"

"See you tonight, Hermione?" Draco asked, but his eyes were focused on Blaise.

"Tonight is fine," she said standing up. "You're cooking right?"

Draco groaned, "I guess... Have fun!"

"You too!" Hermione called from the front door.

The brisk air of the late afternoon hours prickled her face when she stepped onto the cold path outside the inn. She didn't mind. She turned to Ginny, who was staring wide eyed at herself in a nearby window. Hermione giggled; she was going to get all the juicy details out of her friend.

**

* * *

**

End of seventh chapter.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: (2005-03-03)** I'd like to thank _**BenjiMaddenFreek**_, _**Black Aliss**_, _**blaiselover**_ and _**the fallen always falls**_ for reviewing. Most of all I'd like to reply to _**Doodleflip**_, whose review has been the longest so far and I thank with all my heart.


	8. Connexions, première partie

_Chapter Eight_

**Connexions (première partie)**

**

* * *

**

Behind the curtains, the last rays of sunlight cast strange shadows on the Head Girl's bedroom floor; there was such chillness in the air outside that made Hermione feel grateful for the roaring fire she had started. Nevertheless, a different chill altogether had settled in her heart and, as her eyes drifted past the fire to her desk, she felt a pang at the sight of her gown for the Halloween Feast.

Ginny's voice rang through the closed door leading to the Heads joint bathroom. A few nights earlier, she had been doing the same thing.

"Are you sure it's okay if I stay for dinner?" she had asked, when she had finally come out of the bathroom.

She had been drying her hair in a towel.

"Why not?" Hermione replied. "Draco is bringing Blaise here all the time, why shouldn't I invite my friends?

Ginny had dressed with a shrug, and then sat in the nearby armchair.

"Well, Blaise is cute," she had said matter-of-factly.

Hermione hadn't really been listening, she recalled, because she had been browsing her wardrobe for an outfit.

"How about this?"

She had grabbed a pink blouse and whirled round.

"Not bad," Ginny had replied. "Besides, he's smart."

"Who's smart?" Hermione had asked courteously, still struggling with the buttons of the blouse.

She really hadn't been listening, she could see that clearly now.

When the two girls had entered the Heads kitchen, Draco had had his back to the door; he had been humming while brewing some kind of sausage in a pan. It was not an unusual sight; Hermione had seen him cook several times already.

Blaise had entered the kitchen carrying a box of pasta in his hands.

"Ciao ragazze!" he had said, "Sorry, I mean, hi girls!"

Ginny had badgered him about his Italian origins at once, and Blaise had quietly answered all of her questions. He had been born halfway between France and Italy because his parents had been travelling at the time and his mother hadn't wanted to risk his life by Apparating to St. Mungo's. Most of his paternal family still lived in Verona, in northeastern Italy, and he went visiting as often as he could, but his father owned a house in Greater London.

"Romeo and Juliet!" Ginny had squealed at the mention of the Italian city.

Blaise's mother was French, but she had relocated to England after her father's death.

"My grandmother wanted me to attend Beauxbatons," Blaise had said, casting a side-glance at Hermione.

"Well, why didn't you?" Ginny had asked.

"No more questions, ladies," Draco had interrupted, "Pascal values his privacy."

He had smiled down at Hermione before placing a steaming serving dish in the middle of the table and presenting it as _penne alla carbonara_. He had elucidated them on cooking and bakery – a subject she for herself hadn't thought he'd be remotely interested in; Blaise had been eyeing her throughout their dinner. He seemed peeved at something and his gaze was so intense, Hermione felt self-conscious whenever she brought a forkful of _penne_ to her mouth.

However, that had been two days before, the evening they had returned from Hogsmeade all together. Now, Ginny, for what seemed like the hundredth time, was yelling at Hermione. She had got her head around the daft idea that something was going on between the Head Boy and Girl; she was incensed because she thought that Hermione had been hiding it _and_ because, in her opinion, Draco Malfoy was a waste of space.

"This is a sick and deranged theory of yours," Hermione said.

Ginny gave her a look that clearly asked her if she was suggesting that _she_ was the deranged one.

Things hadn't escalated to that point so brusquely, of course; for two days, the signals had laid dormant and the young Weasley girl had solely expressed an odd obsession with all things Zabini. She had dragged Hermione to the library to read up on Blaise's family, she had skimmed the _Daily Prophet_ for ads on Italian lessons, but whenever Hermione questioned this sudden interest, Ginny just shrugged.

"I'm just curious," she would say.

"You know what?" she asked instead that day. "The point is you don't trust anyone anymore," she went on hotly. "Not me, not Ron or Harry, not anyone," she crossed her arms.

"That's not true..." Hermione said weakly.

Ginny continued as if she had never been interrupted, but her ears were red as ever.

"Take Blaise," she said. "He's a terrific guy and _you_'re wasting your time on Malfoy."

And she left, her stride so steadfastly hostile that the Head Girl didn't even try to stop her. Hermione was hardly restraining the tears that would confirm how hurt she felt; the moment she thought she couldn't take it any longer, she became aware of a hand squeezing her shoulder.

"Hermione?"

It was the first time Blaise called her by first name; it had always been 'Head Girl' before. She considered, as common sense came back to her, that they rarely spoke to each other directly; Draco was often a buffer, for them both.

"Are you okay?"

She hadn't answered, had she?

"Yes," she said. "Sorry for the show," she finished, looking up at him.

Blaise's hair was all tangled up, and she wondered if he had been dozing off in the Heads common room. Ginny's yells had been loud enough for the whole castle to hear, Hermione pondered glumly. She forced a smile on her face, because she couldn't stand the apprehensive look Blaise was giving her. It looked like he cared for her, and Hermione was suddenly reminded of the night of the party, of Draco's warning.

"Head Girl, do you mind if I ask you something?"

He had called her 'Head Girl' again; had she imagined him calling her by her first name?

"No, not at all."

_Is it me or did my voice just falter?_ Hermione thought, startled. She looked at him for a sign that he might have heard her thinking, but Blaise had sat down on the bed next to her and cleared his throat as if he hadn't noticed a thing. She inwardly sighed in relief.

"What's up between you and Draco?" he blurted out, "I mean, sei libera di fare come ti pare... Sorry, you're free to do as you wish, but," he motioned at the threshold leading to the common room, "that friend of yours? She's right, and rumours about the two of you are becoming hard to ignore."

He had spoken with a calm in his voice that Hermione found both fascinating and unnerving.

"We're just friends," she argued, averting her eyes from his.

Undeniably, she had been spending a lot of time with Draco, but had she been naive in not seeing it as anything more than a positive step towards inter-house civility? She hadn't realised people were whispering about them, but she had seen her former roommates envious looks. She had just dismissed them as inconsequential.

"You _say_ you're just friends," Blaise told her. "Actions speak more than words, Hermione."

So, he used her name when it was in _his_ interest to. Bitterly, she asked him what he meant by that statement and although she knew she was pushing the matter too far, she felt someone needed to pay for making such lewd assumptions about the Heads.

Blaise breathed in slowly before explaining himself.

"Look," he began, "I'm just showing you how things look from the outside."

He stood up and went to her desk, leaning on the back of her chair with his hands.

"Draco is very popular and his history with girls is, well, questionable," he said. "If you continue hanging around him, people will begin to question your intelligence and second-guess your motives."

"What you're saying is that, basically, only out of stupidity and desperation would I consider going out with Draco."

Blaise hadn't _actually_ said she was ugly, nor stupid. Hermione knew she wasn't as pretty as Ginny or as charming as Parvati, but she also knew there was someone out there who would see her as the most beautiful girl in the world. Nonetheless, that was no reason to swallow her pride when directly insulted.

He lingered in replying.

"Forget it," he whispered at last. "I just wanted to warn you," he muttered harshly. "I didn't expect to be accused of denigrating you."

"Well, it _did_ awfully sound like you were!" Hermione spat back, pleased to have the chance to prove her point. "As you can see, actions often speak wrong."

Blaise made that characteristic odd movement with his hand, and left. He didn't slam her door, or the entrance painting, on his way out, but the heavy silence throughout which his footsteps resonated was just as bad.

**

* * *

**

Hermione hadn't spoken to Blaise in three days, and she had been given the silent treatment from Ginny for a whole day. But at last, October 31st had arrived, and the two girls had explained themselves. Draco was still a sore spot between them; Ginny was at least convinced that her friend has not been hiding anything, but she still held her romantic suppositions to be true.

At lunch, Hermione's eyes unconsciously searched a familiar dark-haired boy, but Draco's met her gaze instead. He smirked at her across the Great Hall, and she looked away quickly. She wondered if he had noticed that she now avoided his touch whenever possible.

"He's so sweet!"

Hermione did a double take.

"Who?" she asked.

Ginny was obviously talking about Harry, the boy who had finally found the guts to ask her out. She was still unsure if the snogging had come before or after the actual asking out thing.

"I think it might be love," the redhead sighed exaggeratedly.

"Love?" Ron butted in. "Who's talking about love?"

His sister huffed and packed his mouth with a slice of bread.

"Mind your own business, _Ronniekins_," she mocked.

Ron squirmed in his seat.

"Herms?" he called, "Who are you going to the Feast with?"

Hermione stared at him, while Ginny stifled a giggle.

"The Heads are supposed to attend together, Ron."

"Oh," he replied, "I guess you had already told me."

Harry jumped in to help his friend.

"You might have mentioned it in passing, Herms," he said. "We probably weren't listening."

It was so nice of him to try to distract Hermione from Ron's obvious blunder that she nodded and smiled, instead of feeling offended at their lack of attention.

"We're getting ready in your room, right?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," she replied. "You should wear your dress in advance though as Draco will also be changing next door."

Hermione cringed at the eventuality that she might get an unplanned tête-à-tête with the Head Boy that evening.

"It won't be a problem," Ginny said, "I have six brothers, I've seen everything there is to see."

Ron blushed from head to toe.

**

* * *

**

Hermione wrapped her wet hair in a towel and cleared up the fogged up mirror with another. She stared at her reflection; you almost couldn't tell she looked any different from the bookworm Muggle-born she had been for six years. Her darker hair accentuated her pallor much more than her previous bushy brown mane had, but one had to peer at her closely to notice the change in her eyes. Hermione turn her back to the mirror to get a better look of her shoulders, and there it was: her ominous tattoo. She grabbed her bathrobe and hid herself within in.

"I heard the water stop," her co-Head called from outside the bathroom.

The message was clear enough, and she got out once she had put on her slippers.

"The bath's all yours, _Draco_," she cooed, brushing past him.

She heard his rapid intake of air; she almost dared herself to read his thoughts.

Hermione widened her eyes.

She shut the door to her bedroom and rested against it. What had she been about to do? Tap Draco's mind? She shook her head with disappointment.

_I must not abuse my ability_, she thought.

In the past month, she had learned to control the mind-talking thing; it was extremely hard and without Ginny as her personal cheerleader, Hermione didn't think she could have gone as far as she had. She let her hair down and took hold of her wand; Lavender, bless her, had taught Hermione one good thing in their fourth year and that was how to dry her hair without the need for that muggle appliance called hairdryer. She whispered the incantation and soft waves of hot air surged from her wand, gently caressing her scalp and drying her locks. It was a marvellous feeling.

Half an hour later, Hermione slipped her costume on and allowed Ginny to tighten her corset.

"Granger, I swear, if you're the reason we get there late," Draco lectured through her door. "I am going to make sure you fail Potions."

From inside her room, Hermione mimicked the last part of the sentence; her friend snorted in response. It was his typical threat and his co-Head had stopped worrying about it, not that she had _ever_ worried about it of course. Ginny left as soon as both of them were ready, mainly because Harry was waiting for her outside Gryffindor Tower.

When the doors of the Great Hall opened in grand fashion, to every eye the hall looked dazzling. Carved and lit pumpkins floated above the students' heads while small colourful fireworks burst every now and then; a long, richly dressed table stood near the entrance of the Hall, covered in delicious food and mouth-watering drinks. The Head Boy and Girl stood in front of the Staff Table, engaged in what looked like a lively discussion. Ginny and Harry spotted them right away; they approached, waving four bubbling chalices.

"Isn't she ravishing?" Draco prompted, taking one of the glasses, "I keep telling her, but she doesn't believe me."

Hermione blushed and playfully hit him on the forearm. She turned her head towards Ginny to check her reaction to Draco's casual flirting, but Harry stepped into view.

"I agree, Herms, you're to die for," he said.

She was wearing a deep blue gown with a halter neckline, but the goffered frills wrapped around everywhere made her feel quite silly. It was all authentic though, she had gone the distance to replicate one of Rowena Ravenclaw's outfit; she _had_ added a bit of silver artwork here and there, just to go with the fairy tale look instead of the strict Founder one.

"Wouldn't that look great on the dance floor," Draco said.

The band had signalled them the first dance and she let him lead her towards the centre of the Hall. His costume clashed slightly with hers, as Hermione had indeed expected; all that green did not go well with her blue. However, he had dyed his hair black for the occasion and that complemented the elaborate bun she had combed her hair into perfectly.

Hermione became aware of Draco's hand on her side as they smoothly swayed in front of the school.

"Did Blaise have better to do tonight?" she asked.

He chuckled. "You're graced by Hogwarts heartthrob's dancing skills, and all you can think of is _Blaise_?"

He spun her around.

"I was just asking," she replied.

"Why is it so important?" he asked.

He pulled her close, so that they were only inches apart, but for less than a split second. Hermione felt her cheeks burn.

"It's not," she managed to say.

She now knew the reason so many girls swooned over him; Draco's charm was overwhelming, and she wanted to get away from him and his innuendoes.

"There, there," he said. "I was only teasing."

Hermione thought he had noticed her unease, because he usually never apologised for making fun of her. His voice sounded so serious too; she looked up at him.

She smiled.

He smirked.

"You scared me," she said.

She was pleased to see his trademark smirk fade from his lips at her words. He looked hesitant; perhaps he wanted to apologize again, but a moment later, Hermione knew he had missed his chance. The music had stopped and the Headmaster had stood up to make a speech.

They pulled away from each other and gathered with the other students, but when Dumbledore cleared his voice, Hermione's attention was suddenly elsewhere. A brisk movement had caught her eye; the doors of the Great Hall had opened and closed.

"Did you see that?" she whispered to Draco.

Students weren't supposed to leave the Feast yet because curfew was still set up outside those doors.

"What?" her co-Head whispered back.

He couldn't have seen it, Hermione reasoned, because his eyes had never left the Headmaster.

"Nevermind."

_Maybe someone felt sick_, she thought.

Hermione quickly told Draco she was going to check on something, and she left the Great Hall. Away from the Feast, the castle looked uncannily shadowy. She draped her shawl around her, and walked towards the left end of the hallway; it was a place as good as any to start investigating.

One of those rare landscape paintings hung on the wall there; with no figures in it, it was completely still. It looked askew that night and something lay at its feet. Hermione lowered herself to the floor to stare at another white feather, just like the other one she had found.

_How bizarre..._

Underneath the feather, there was a piece of paper. Feeling a bit like a Muggle detective on a crime scene, she read it without touching it.

__When also Zephyr with his sweet breath exhales an air in every grove and heath upon the tender shoots_

Hermione recognised the poem as an excerpt taken from one of the opening lines of the Canterbury Tales. Nothing criminal about it then. She reached for the parchment.

Before she had any chance to react, she felt the familiar feeling of being jerked forward; she had touched a Portkey.

**

* * *

**

End of eighth chapter.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: (2005-03-05)** Chapter nine, readers' choice: whose point of view will it be about, Blaise or Hermione? I've noticed you'd like to see how the story might develop on Blaise's behalf, but we'll see.

_**FarDeep**_: really, it felt so good to see my fanfic on your c2 community! Don't take it off! Moreover, you will know when it's a Blaise chapter from the title_._

_**the fallen always falls**_: well, actually, _Head Girl_ is something like _Miss Granger_. It's formal because Blaise still can't say they're friends. About Blaise and the DADA teacher... that's a secret to be revealed in the chapters to come, I can't tell you. The same goes for him hearing her without his ears hurting. Be patient. Alors, _Ginny and Harry_. Yes, they're going out and after the Quidditch meeting in Hogsmeade they snogged a bit also. _Hermione and Blaise._ They'll get together, I can tell you this but the exact moment is to remain a mystery for now.

_**Black Aliss**_: yeah, some mysteries would be given away, but personally I'm dying to find out and I am the _writer!_

_**Doodleflip**_: thanks for the compliments and you really deserved me being nice! I'm writing when I'm supposed to be studying, babysitting or sleeping... it's the fate of those with an untamed spirit!

_**sari**_: well, you read the email and everything. I just hope you understand better now!

_**homestar-fan**_: you're the one I thought I'd disappoint with these notes. Forgive me! I'll update in a bit, as you should know. What you wrote was really appreciated, with all my heart really! I'll keep writing and you keep reading, deal?

To every other reader, _thanks a bunch!_


	9. BZ Introspection

_**Warning!** To avoid confusion, the following chapter is from Blaise's point-of-view and I used a Time Turner to set the clock back to the beginning of the story._

**Xxxxxxxxx**

_(BZ)_

**Introspection**

**Xxxxxxxxx**

Blaise had never thought of his life as an easy one, far from it.

He had been born in a wealthy wizarding family, but he had had to hide his true nature from childhood. He was good at it, but by the end of his first year at Hogwarts, he had come to realise he couldn't conceal himself behind a quiet bookish semblance all the time; he needed someone to share his secret with. It had taken him a while to actually find someone. Draco Malfoy hadn't been his first choice. He was candid about his allegiance and Blaise did not want to take sides, but sharing a detention makes the most improbable friends. They had helped each other throughout their teenage years; they had grown into better persons together.

Now they were almost inseparable.

Blaise neared the shelves of Flourish and Blotts in a sort of mystic pilgrimage; he didn't know what he was looking for, but all unread books tempted him. He scanned their covers, trying to sort out by what subject they had been catalogued, but he felt his mind stray and could not focus. He could tell that someone was watching him.

He picked a random book, busying himself and buying time.

His father had taught him to lie low and study the enemy; tire them, learn their weaknesses. Blaise had always been reminded of Shakespeare's tragic heroes, whose unredeemable flaws had led to their downfall. Bringing his father's teachings to the extreme, he fell in the shadows and dissected the personalities of those around him. His mother often reprimanded him when he would come out of nowhere and give her a heart attack, but Blaise thought it was what made him a Slytherin. His was an ingenious game of blending into the surroundings and watching unseen.

"Pascal! It's so good to see you!"

The accented voice of his sister brought a wave of relief on Blaise and he turned to greet her.

"Giulia!"

Blaise's younger sister looked nothing like him; her fair hair and dark complexion, mixed with a never-fading smile, gave her a livelier look than her brother. Giulia's gene pool seemed to have stemmed from their father's side of the family only, and Blaise thought he looked rather pale next to her.

"_Come stai? Sei appena tornata?"_ [How are you? Did you just get back?]

Giulia giggled. "Yes, I just got back," she replied. "There's no need to test my Italian now, you know."

"I thought you were getting better at it," he said.

"_Infatti, ma dopo un'estate intera giù dai nonni, sono stufa!"_ [I am, but after a whole summer at Gran and Grandpa's, I'm sick of it!]

They exited the bookstore and started walking towards Florean Fortescue's. Giulia filled her brother in on their Italian family while he listened, taking in every small detail. He hadn't been to Italy in over a year and he missed his grandmother's culinary skills; he had learned everything he knew about cooking from her and had, in turn, educated Draco.

"I met this really cute boy," the young witch let slip as they rounded the corner. "Too bad he's a second-year."

Blaise still struggled to grasp the concept of Giulia being in her fourth year. She attended Beauxbatons, but even if it had been her choice, she had good and bad days about it. She dreaded the unpredictable English weather (something she didn't fail to comment on whenever she came to visit), but she hated having had to learn French ("As if trying to master Italian wasn't enough trouble").

"Oy, Malfoy-boy!"

She had spotted Draco Malfoy standing in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The blond boy walked over and they slipped inside the parlour together. Draco sat down next to Blaise and eyed Giulia with caution; he had no appreciation for her childlike mirth, quite the opposite really. Blaise had often wondered if his friend had some sort of only child syndrome, and what would have it been like to meet him if – _Merlin forbid!_ – Lucius and Narcissa had ever produced a second heir.

"Black coffee?" the waitress inquired.

They sipped their hot drinks in silence.

Blaise liked Diagon Alley; its narrowness forced wizards and witches to thrust, squeeze and crush one another, and behave accordingly. It was an exquisite opportunity to study people with different temperaments in an unwanted situation.

He had been looking at a couple of wizards who had bumped into each other and were now turning quite red in the face, when another kind of crimson hue caught his eye. He knew it at once to be the flaming mane of a Weasley. Ginevra Weasley.

She was chatting with another known witch.

The archive that was Blaise's mind skipped right ahead to Hermione Granger, but he frowned and re-examined the evidence before him. He couldn't be sure it was her because she didn't fit her usual criteria; her trademark bushy hair was still there, but it was darker, almost as dark as his own. She looked taller too. Blaise's frown deepened when she tilted her head towards the Weasley girl and he caught a glimpse of her face. There it was. Granger's customary focused expression, and one couldn't mistake the amount of books unrelated to their classes in her arms. He nodded; satisfied his classification system hadn't been thrown off by a mere change of appearance.

He averted his gaze and met Giulia's gleeful eyes.

"Tell me, Draco, has Pascal got himself a girlfriend yet?" she asked as her usually innocent smile morphed into a smirk.

"No, though I did try to hook him up with Bulstrode last year, but it didn't work."

"She was already taken," Blaise explained, attempting to defend himself.

As much of a good friend Millicent was, she was better off with the other guy; Blaise couldn't stand competition in the least.

Giulia laughed. Blaise frowned, gulped down the remainders of his coffee, gasped looking at the ghost of a watch on his wrist and suggested she set off at once to get to the nearest Floo fireplace.

"Eager to be left alone, are you?" Giulia teased. "So be it, I'm leaving, but we'll see each other at dinner."

He nodded, distracted, and handed her coat; she pouted in jest, but then kissed him on the cheek.

"No funny business," she warned, and walked off.

Blaise groaned at his sister's back. _No funny business. _That was code for don't-you-dare-morph-anywhere-in-public-or-you'll-be-grounded-for-a-week.

His mother loved both her husband and her firstborn very much. It was a factual truth registered in Blaise's mind-archive. In the past, however, she had had trouble coping with the reality of their nature.

"The word _angel_ might throw you off, but don't let it mess with you head, your kind has nothing to do with religious angels, do you understand me?"

She wasn't fond of the terminology; _angel-shifter_ sounded religious, in her opinion, so she usually preferred the less known designation of _alatum_. The _alati_ then, ordinary wizards with angel-like attributes: wings. Blaise's tiny feathery appendixes had sprouted on his back around his second birthday, and hadn't stopped growing since. The gene was hereditary, shared by all newborn boys in the family.

Blaise's father had been the one to teach him how to properly take off and land, but his grandfather had educated him on the history of the _alati_, stressing the difference between them and the angels of religion.

Yet, Blaise loved theology. He had read all he could find on the subject, archived everything away in his brain and formulated theories of his own. He understood he was different from the creatures in the _Paradiso _of the _Divine Comedy_; he wasn't one of God's messengers.

He had a choice.

However, his nature was both a blessing and a curse; every first night of the month, Blaise _had_ to morph. It was an itch that he couldn't soothe and nothing worked, except soaring the skies before his self-control loosened and his feathers started falling off.

He hadn't been pleased to discover that Hogwarts term always started on September 1st.

"Pascal!"

_Pascal._ It had been Giulia's idea of a joke – her brother and the renowned philosopher sharing names – but it had stuck; it didn't help matters than the Italian translation of the name was a farcical _Pasquale_.

He dodged one of his sister's bear hugs and stepped into the entrance as his mother walked into the room.

"Dinner's almost ready," she said with a smile. "Oh, you brought Draco, how delightful."

As they all moved into the dining hall, Blaise admired the grand paintings that hung in the hallways of his grandmother's house – as he always did. The faces of his ancestors looked at him with pride, for the most part, but there were the occasional catcalls from the more radical wizards and witches. A stern look from Blaise's grandmother though, and even those fell silent.

As far as he knew, Mémé Aude had grown up in the sumptuous family home in France and she had moved to Britain only after the death of her husband, Sébastien Lestrange. Being related to a family like that made Blaise's blood curl, but knowing his grandfather had never adhered to the ideas of the Death Eaters _in toto_ made him feel a bit better.

"O' for Morgaine's sake!" Mémé Aude exclaimed, "Can't you disguise those zings, Alberto? We're _eating_!"

His father sent Blaise a meaningful look, then hid his wings and apologised to his mother-in-law.

**Xxxxxxxxx**

Landing on the grass, he reached behind him with one hand and stroked his feathered appendixes. The pleasure he got from the caress was cut short by Draco's voice.

"Your sister is stalking me," his friend said with a shudder.

"Did you refuse to answer one of questions?" Blaise asked. "That's about the only reason she'd do that." He concealed his wings and stared at his friend. "She doesn't fancy you."

Draco glanced behind him.

"Who cares if she fancies me! Just get her off my case!"

"What is she so desperate to find out?" Blaise insisted.

"'Is it true'," Draco began in a poor imitation of Giulia's voice, "'that Harry Potter is in your year? I can't believe Pascal never told me! You must introduce me! I heard he's beaten a dragon, is that true?'" He coughed. "Shall I continue?"

"I get the picture, thanks."

"She just annoys the hell out of me," Draco said. "Would you mind terribly if I were to strangle her?"

They heard a soft chuckle and spun around to check who it was; they were both dreading it'd turn out to be Giulia, but it was Blaise's grandmother instead. She approached them with a house-elf trailing after her.

"I waz explaining to Juju 'ow I want my rozez tended to," she said in her cadenced timbre. "And I overheard your _tête-à-tête_," she frowned. "Did I say zat right, Blaise? Can you use zat in Eenglish?"

"Yes, Mémé."

The witch turned to the house-elf and dismissed him with a final warning not to trample on her gladioli while minding the roses.

"Walk with me boys," Mémé Aude said, offering her arm to her grandson. "Did you know your great-grandfather built zis 'ouse, Draco?"

"No, ma'am, I did not."

"It waz supposed to be a present for your aunt Bellatrix," she went on. "But I guess she never cared for it, and it's better zat we are using it."

They strolled about the huge park surrounding the house for a while, immersed in their own thoughts.

Blaise recalled the day he had heard his father scheme with his grandfather against the Dark Lord; he had stepped in and asked to be part of the plan, contrary to what he had always claimed he'd do when faced with the situation. Remain neutral. But then he had met Draco, and things had started to change.

Aside from him, nobody knew Blaise's secret.

He was grateful for one thing: as only males could inherit the gene, Giulia would always be safe, she wasn't valuable. Draco had tried to make him see the fallacy of his reasoning, but he had turned a deaf ear.

"Speak of the devil..."

Blaise smirked and pointed at his sister, walking across the lawn to reach them.

"Salut, Mémé," Giulia said once close enough. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she snarled at the look on Draco's face. "I came to tell you Mum wants to have tea all together."

Giulia, like an Israeli platoon, didn't stop until she had accomplished her mission.

"Malfoy, have you got a girlfriend?" she asked over her cup of tea.

Blaise was curious to see how far his sister was willing to go on nagging Draco, who, at the moment, looked embarrassed. He muttered a negative response, but for the examination to be already over, it would have been far too easy.

"Weren't you and Pansy going out last year?"

Draco choked on his drink. "I dumped her two years ago," he said and glanced at his friend.

He was doomed and he knew it, but there was nothing Blaise could do about it. Draco took a moment to collect himself and then looked the young witch in the eye.

"Oh," Giulia's tone was mocking. "How come?" she asked. "Someone –"

"She was nosy, capricious and bloody clinging," Draco interrupted. "That's why I broke up with her."

Giulia hammered on.

"I think she went after somebody else," she said. "She can't have been faring well after the War, and what better way to ensure you're back into everyone's graces than being the hero's girlfriend?"

Blaise smirked; his little sister knew her stuff. The hint was also too big to be missed even by the inattentive ear of Mémé Aude, and their parents.

"Potter already _has_ a girlfriend."

On the one hand, Draco and Blaise both knew for a fact that wasn't true. Giulia, on the other hand, did not read the _Daily Prophet_.

"No, he doesn't."

But she did read _Witch Weekly_.

"Why are we discussing 'Arry Potter's love-life?" Mémé Aude asked, marking the end of the discussion.

Giulia smiled a wicked smile and shrugged. She had however instilled a question in her brother's head; in Blaise's mind-archive, Draco was known for his flings (uncountable), but how to explain why he had yet to replace his ex-girlfriend. Pansy had been his longest relationship to date; had the war affected him that much?


	10. BZ Genesis

_(BZ)_

**Genesis**

**Xxxxxxxxx**

Before Hogwarts, Blaise was an owl person. He lived at night – when he could fly as long as he wanted and not be discovered – and got his rightful rest during the day. Curfew had changed his rhythms for good.

Now an early bird, Blaise got up earlier than any other Slytherin to enjoy the peace he had been used to cherish at night. The flying, that had had to go; something he wasn't pleased with.

Because of his unhealthy lifestyle choice, he had also uncovered the joys and troubles of coffee and could now state with pride he was addicted to the stuff. As on every other summer morning, on September 1st, Blaise's mother entered his bedroom carrying a cup of his cherished beverage.

"Time to get up," she whispered.

Blaise, startled by her voice, almost fell off his bed. She handed him the hot coffee, and he sipped while his mother cleaned up his room and seized his trunk to transfer it downstairs. Blaise considered he was lucky she was moving it with her wand, for he had packed far more books than he needed.

Once his mother had left, he dressed himself, not paying the slightest attention to the mirror who was reminding him to comb his hair. He wasn't in the mood for talking mirrors in the morning.

Blaise descended the stairs in silence and walked into the smaller dining room they used for breakfast and teatime. His father was reading the _Daily Prophet_; next to him, Mémé Aude was having her silver knife butter the bread with her wand. Opposite them, his mother stirred sugar in her tea. Giulia's absence could be felt already, but she had had to leave the day before; Beauxbatons and Hogwarts terms started on the same day.

"Morning, Dad," Blaise said, his voice hoarse.

The wizard grunted and turned a page.

"_Tel père, tel fils_."

Mémé Aude didn't seem to notice she had spoken her thought out loud.

"You and your father are both awfully quiet in the morning," Blaise's mother translated.

His father grunted again.

"I'm a quiet person," he muttered. "It's how I stay alive."

His wife sighed at the melodramatic tone, but turned her attention to Blaise to ask him if he had packed everything and reassure him that she'd send whatever he had forgotten. Not that the methodical Blaise would be likely to forget something.

They resumed their silence until it was time to get to King's Cross Station. By then, Blaise was fully awake, even if his ever-quiet attitude veiled the zeal he now observed his surroundings with. The station was packed with Muggles, as per usual, and Mémé Aude had a hard time explaining a police officer why she had been wearing a pointed hat.

"You should have left it at home, Maman," Blaise's mother said.

Mémé Aude waved the objection away and they all got through the barrier to reach Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

"_Ci siamo_," his father said, as eleven grew near. "_Ci vediamo a Natale, figliolo._" [Here we go. See you at Christmas, son.]

"I 'ate when you do not speak Eenglish," Mémé Aude complained, kissing Blaise on the cheek.

"We'll miss you." His mother stifled tears.

Blaise hugged them all, scanning the crowd for Draco. Where was his best friend when he needed to be rescued? He just couldn't see why they had to make such a fuss of him leaving for four measly months.

"I love you." He felt almost obliged to say it.

He mounted on the first step of the carriage and Draco finally appeared to save him from another round of goodbyes. They set out to find a compartment; the Slytherins usually stuck together, but now the War was over and everybody knew not to sit with the losing party. Blaise watched nonplussed as Draco walked past Gregory and Vincent without a second glance. Where his old cronies sat wasn't their business anymore.

Even when they passed by the compartment where the whole Quidditch team was killing time, Draco had him leave after a brief chat; he was their Captain, but they couldn't be called friends.

At last, they halted.

"You found him," Millicent greeted them.

Draco nodded and opened the book he'd been carrying with him.

"What are you reading?" Blaise asked, sitting down.

It looked old and tarnished, but Draco was not known to take good care of books either. _New and Improved Quidditch Tactics_ was engraved on the front cover. Draco kept skimming the book to find where he had left off.

Across them, resting a manicured hand under her chin and watching out of the window, Pansy seemed to be posing for a nonexistent, and grim, photoshoot. Theodore and Millicent sat next to her, deep in conversation about the new Charms textbook. They both had that nerdy attitude that shunned away every other person in the room, but Blaise wasn't complaining.

He switched his gaze to engage Daphne in conversation, for she was looking put off by Pansy's idleness. He had already regretted his compassionate decision ten minutes into the exchange, but, as luck would have it, Professor Snape opened the door of the compartment.

"There will be a Heads meeting in five minutes," he said. "Mister Malfoy, you're supposed to be there."

Blaise could still recall meeting with the Headmaster, at the end of last term. Draco and he had been told that their scores equally matched and had been asked to choose who would become Head Boy. He remembered all too well the look on Draco's face: hope, trust, and resignation had passed through his eyes.

Draco had wanted that position so badly, a last chance to prove he could be someone without his father's help. Blaise had been proud of letting him have that power; he had his fair amount of obligations already, didn't he?

"Are you coming or not?" Draco asked from the door.

Blaise smiled. He should have known Draco wouldn't have left him behind, not because of Daphne, but in view of the fact that he always expected him to be by his side.

**Xxxxxxxxx**

The mountains were beginning to grow oppressive on him by the time Draco got out of the front compartment, and he wasn't alone. Blaise tried inquiring about the meeting, but Draco twisted his hand in the air. They had come up with that gesture in their fifth year, when speaking openly had been dangerous under the severe authority of the High Inquisitor.

Next to him though, Hermione Granger.

Blaise had not been mistaken in Diagon Alley: _she_ had changed. He had paid her scarce attention in their previous encounters at Hogwarts. She didn't get on his nerves as much as she drove Draco up the wall; until their fourth year, obviously, when even her nemesis had realized she had a body under her school robes.

Blaise had filed the information in his mind-archive, and moved on.

Standing now before her in the narrow corridor, he was amazed he had never paid closer attention to her. To be fair, she was quite pretty. For a Gryffindor. For a Muggle-born. For a swotting, annoying, pedantic girl.

When Blaise crashed down on Earth again, Draco was speaking.

"Let's call a truce, Granger," he was saying.

Blaise watched as Granger's darker hair swayed on her shoulders. She was preparing her comeback, but to him it looked as if she had come straight out of a Baroque painting, with the wrong clothing.

"That's fine with me, but you mustn't belittle neither Harry nor Ron."

Her inflexible tone eerily echoed Professor McGonagall's.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Draco replied after a minute.

Granger looked taken aback by his ready acquiescence and, though she tried to cover it up, the nervous way she had started to twirl her hair around her finger gave her away. It took all of Blaise's customary self-control to refrain from questioning Draco about the surprising truce, but more pressing matters concerned him.

They were being introduced to one another. Not one of Draco's proudest moments, but for Granger not to extend her hand... Blaise bit down a sharp comeback for his friend's sake.

"What just happened?" Blaise asked.

They had left a bewildered Head Girl and were back in their compartment.

Draco shrugged and sat down, grabbing his shabby book once again. Daphne had succumbed to Millicent and Theodore's academic debate, and Pansy was still staring outside the window.

"We've got to work together," the Head Boy said matter-of-fact, and turned a page.

Blaise sat opposite him, trying to decipher his words.

Surely, Draco saw some utility in his allegiance with Hermione Granger, but he was failing to see it. He asked if Snape had forced them to get along.

"Oh, yeah, he tried to scare me," Draco answered, turning another page. "Tried to read my mind, the greasy spy."

Blaise wouldn't have expected such a misuse of magic by their Head of House and a thought struck him. Was there something Draco had been keeping from him? The next moment though, he realised it couldn't be. His friend had proved to trust him long ago, and there were close to no secrets between them. If Draco wasn't willing to share why he was befriending Granger, who had been a thorn in his side since the beginning of time as they knew it, he had his good reasons.

Good reasons that didn't daunt Blaise's curiosity in the least.

"Does any of this have something to do with her, for lack of a better word, new looks?"

Draco finally looked up from his book and stared at him.

"Do you have the hots for her or something?" he asked. "She cleaned up all right, but –"

Blaise poked him with his wand. "Be serious!"

"I _was_ being serious," Draco drawled.

He then looked at Blaise sideways and flinched at the stern look he was getting. Blaise had the uncanny ability to look as menacing as Mémé Aude, when he wanted to.

"To tell the truth," Draco began, "I was merely looking out for myself... I don't want to fight over every little detail all year, and we're going to see a lot of Granger from now on."

"Who's we?"

Draco smirked, raising his gaze. "Me and you, Blaise, or did you think I was going to do everything on my own?"


	11. BZ Reason and result

_(BZ)_

**Reason and Result**

**Xxxxxxxxx**

Blaise looked upwards and stared at the ceiling.

He wished he had never initiated any sort of communication with the Head Girl; letting his guard down, allowing her to glimpse into his life... There was no real justification for his careless behaviour. He would just have to learn to live with it.

"Am I stupid?"

"No, mate, you're just overworked," Draco replied.

They were standing at the conjured bar in the middle of the Slytherin common room, drying the last chalices and tumblers. Everything was ready for the party.

Blaise's grip on the glass tightened; even in the supposed safety of the Slytherin dungeons, he wasn't safe from Hermione Granger's constant presence. The party was a covert birthday party Draco had devised when he had realised his co-Head wasn't going to celebrate her own birthday.

"Isn't she Muggle-born?" Blaise asked for the umpteenth time. "Don't they do something for their _eighteenth_?"

"I think Bulstrode mentioned something about that."

Blaise was past caring before his friend had finished replying.

He still remembered the first time he had been allowed to take part in the Slytherin parties; the kaleidoscopic lights, the drinks, the music and, clearly, the girls. Third-year Blaise had never really appreciated female beauty before that night, not until an older student had asked him to dance. Or even later on, when somebody had kissed him as the lights flickered.

He had soon grown tired of that, though, and had soon applied for the position he still held. Serving drinks behind the bar, he could lapse into his favourite hobby of observing those around him. His, of course, was also the duty to stop the other Slytherins from getting too inebriated.

"Well, I'm off!" Draco called, dropping the towel on the counter.

_He_ was the real leader of the show; no party was complete without Draco Malfoy. As his friend, Blaise enjoyed a privileged status, but the girls preferred the original to 'the friend'.

Blaise didn't mind; he had had his share of romance, if you could call it that. His relationship with fellow Slytherin Vivian Runcorn had lasted a few months. In the archive of his mind, she was classified as being a brilliant and beautiful brunette. According to Vivian, it wasn't really her fault if Blaise _'showed no hint of emotion'_; thanks to Draco, that had now become a legendary phrase.

Vivian had been right, to some extent.

Blaise hadn't made any audacious, romantic deed to sweep her off her feet and he most certainly had never been caught mooning over her. He had other priorities, but he had needed a date for the Yule Ball. He had _not_ planned to keep it up after that and had been at a loss about how to break loose.

He was reminded of it all when Vivian sauntered into the common room, a younger Slytherin boy trailing after her. Luckily, for both of them, she avoided him these days.

"Two Gillywaters, please!"

Blaise nodded and served a third-year girl; he was meant to stay alert tonight and not ponder his non-existent love life. He heard another order and began mixing drinks for another housemate.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a group of three approach the counter: Draco, Granger and the Weasley girl. Blaise shook his friend's hand, and then supplied the boy with the drinks.

"You brought friends," he remarked in what he hoped was a bored tone.

"The more the better."

When Ginevra Weasley agreed to dance with Draco, Blaise was left to observe the Head Girl fend for herself. As he was serving the umpteenth assorted drink, Ralph Harper approached her with predatory eyes. That caught Blaise's attention. The boy was one of the students Theodore tutored, but aside from that, Blaise could safely say he ignored Harper most of the times. Not counting the hexes he had joined in throwing at the young Slytherin whenever he tried to promote himself to the older years dorm for some random shagging in between classes.

"Zabini, a Firewhiskey for this exquisite lady."

Blaise could only just make out his words and he didn't like them in the least. This was Harper's typical technique: get the girl drunk, drag her somewhere quiet and have his way with her.

He scowled.

He continued observing them while tending bar and checking the grandfather clock of the common room. Blaise would have liked to deny he was worried for Granger's safety, yet he couldn't keep his eyes off her. And after the third Firewhiskey, when he could tell that she didn't hold alcohol very well, and that Harper had increasingly diminished the space between them.

Blaise growled, and almost squashed a tumbler in his hand.

As luck would have it, a vapid but pretty Slytherin stole Harper's attention from the Head Girl, and Blaise could finally relax enough to notice that curfew was etching near. He started getting rid of several drunkard students asking for more spirits, and Pansy appeared amongst them. Blaise took a moment to contemplate how messed up her life had turned out to be after her break up with Draco.

He shook his head, and secured the alcohol in a cupboard with a spell.

"To-oo m-many Firewhis-skies," Granger managed to say when he made his way over to her.

Notwithstanding her apparent discomfort, Blaise couldn't keep himself from smirking at having the Head Girl inebriated at his bar. She was light, and he needn't making too much of an effort to carry her. She, however, resisted his chivalrous attempts at picking her up. He gave her his best stern look, and she giggled.

She giggled. Hermione Granger giggled.

As a rule, Blaise shrunk from giggling girls, but he forgot all about that in front of her. For a moment, he thought _something_ might happen; she was looking up at him with twinkling eyes (Firewhiskey-induced, he reasoned afterwards),her hand in his, standing quite close.

Blaise could smell an unmistakable flowery perfume.

"Where is Ginny?"

He snapped out of his foolish reverie, and pointed at a red-headed student arguing with someone else in the distance.

"Ready, are you, Head Girl?" he asked then.

Another rule was to avoid direct physical contact between him and any other human being whenever possible – people tended to read to much into it. He didn't let go of her hand though, as he led her out of the common room, because an inebriated Head Girl roaming free around the castle was not a good idea. He told himself that, and tightened his grip.

She yelped.

Blaise stole a glance at her, at how nicely she filled her dress, how austere and licentious at the same time she came across. He shook his head with vigour, trying to clear his mind, and as soon as the reached the entrance to her quarters, he let got of her hand.

The portrait swung open and they set foot into the common room, only to find that he wasn't prepared in the least for the sight that presented itself before them.

"Draco! Take a room! My eyes!" he cried.

As soon as Miss Clothes-Are-Beneath-Me left the room, Draco, who had been attempting to regain his usual poise, glared at his friend.

"If you wanted Granger that much, Pascal..."

Blaise didn't even smile. With his next words, he tried to convey how cumbersome it had been to deal with the consequences of Harper's lack of manners, namely the damsel in distress behind him.

"Then again, who knows what she might hide under that pretty dress of hers?"

He hated when Draco used sarcasm to wriggle out of his responsibilities.

"Do behave for once in your life."

Blaise made to stay. He had a common room to put back together though and, well, Granger was in decent, if not good, hands.

**Xxxxxxxxx**

Bubbles erupted from the pewter cauldron and a faint citrus smell filled the air. On the bedspread, a book laid open, and words and pictures moved onto the page explaining how to brew the potion correctly. Blaise didn't need to look at it. His Sobering Potions were renowned amongst Slytherins; they'd badger him after every party without fail.

His eyes on the cauldron, strands of hair screening his gaze, Blaise mused that this was no ordinary Sobering Potion. It wasn't meant for a Slytherin student, but for Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Golden Girl. He chuckled. _I love alliteration_, he thought.

Draco had come to him in the early hours of that Saturday morning, moments after he had lain himself in bed, and had asked him to brew the potion "in a jiffy" because the Head Girl's pals were invading _his_ quarters and he had yet to get any sleep. Blaise had wanted to argue he needed to rest too, but one look at Draco's shadows under his eyes had convinced him to stay put.

So there he was, losing his sleep over a potion meant for the enemy.

His lips curved into a leer smile.

Draco was the kind of person who referred to Gryffindors as the enemy, not him. Blaise thought of inter-house rivalry as a childish thing; something first-years relied on when they didn't know how to explain they didn't like someone. Nonetheless, Slytherin were feared. When he had tried to help a Hufflepuff boy who had bruised his knee, the only answer he had received had been a scared look and footsteps running away. Whenever it was possible, Blaise didn't wear his cloak; he didn't like being despised because of the crest on his robes.

"Zabini!" Pansy shouted. "I have a headache!"

She sauntered into the boys' dormitory with her hair sticking out at odd angles; she was wearing that emerald robe that made her look older than Mémé. Blaise knew it was a gift from her father to secure she looked proper even in bed, but his daughter would have been better off without it.

"And how can I help you?"

He added some chopped mint to the solution; it was almost ready, and Blaise expected Draco to arrive in a jiff.

"You could give some of that potion, for example," Pansy said in her haughty voice.

She wasn't half bad, nine times out of ten, but headaches got the worst out of her in Blaise's opinion. As he started to explain whom the potion was meant for, Draco entered the scene and glared at the girl.

"Hands off," he hissed.

"No need to be rude, you know," she glared back at him.

The staring match lasted less than a minute, then Pansy left; she was in no mood for arguing. Draco huffed and lay down on Blaise's bed, inquiring after the potion.

"In a minute," he answered. "We've got a minute to talk."

"What about?"

Blaise turned to him. "What is troubling you these days?" he asked, "Being Head Boy can't be that much stressful already."

"Oh, the usual really," Draco said. "Potter, mum, Potter again, Weasley, perhaps the mere existence of the Weasleys as a whole, did I mention Potter?"

He looked tired due to the party, Blaise observed, but he also looked tense. _Teso come una corda di violino_, as his father would have said. His nerves on the edge.

"You haven't had a girlfriend in ages," he let slip, hoping to get a reaction.

Draco gave a little twitch, then sat upright on the bed and looked at him. He smirked.

"The minute is over, I believe," he said.

Blaise shook his head, and put some of the potion into a small vial; he stared at the liquid to check it one last time.

"Don't exaggerate with the dosage, she might get a fever," he warned, handing it over.

The other nodded and left. Blaise was surprised Draco hadn't asked why it had been him who had taken the responsibility to get the Head Girl back to their quarters, why he hadn't relinquished the task to some Gryffindor. If he had though, Blaise wouldn't have known what to answer.

"Anything left for me?" Millicent called from the threshold.

She looked the same as ever; the same 'tomboy geek' Blaise had first classified her as.

"Yes, come in."

She approached him, fumbling in her pockets for some Knuts.

"I saw Malfoy leaving in a hurry, you two had row?"

Blaise chuckled as he took another vial from his supply.

"Pansy was here," he said.

Millicent smirked, but didn't comment. They were silent while he filled the vial with Sobering Potion; Blaise gave it to her and was given the sum of forty Knuts.

"Is this for you?" he asked puzzled. "You do know the counter-effects if taken sober, don't you."

"No, and yes," she replied. "It's for Theo." She sighed. "He always want to give these parties a try and, well, frankly I'm getting tired of picking up the pieces."

After Millicent left, he wondered if he should be complaining too; it hadn't been his place to rescue the Granger girl from the party, so why had he done it?

"_Evanesco,_" he muttered with his wand drawn out over the cauldron.

He grabbed his cloak and decided it was early enough for a quick flight. No one would be up for a few hours, and he was desperate to spread his wings. Blaise had found one spot he liked to visit on the school grounds; down south, past the faulty fountain thirsty students had learnt to stay away from, an immense oak tree had taken root in the Middle Ages – at least that was his personal opinion. It was so out of everyone's way that Blaise could unleash his _alatum_ nature and rest on its large branches; he had yet to be discovered there. However, he had come to realise somebody else liked the spot. Granger. She would sit beneath the oak at random times in spring and disrupt Blaise's schedule.

_Not today_, he thought with a smile, _she's recovering from a hangover today_.

His smile turned into a smirk as he stepped out of the dungeons and into the light of the upper levels.

**Xxxxxxxxx**

As the school weeks went on, as September gave way to October, Blaise knew she must have done something to him. He had cursed himself for caring, but he had wanted to give Harper a piece of his mind nonetheless; he had been fair, he thought, for he had just hinted at what the Board would say if they got word he had gotten the Head Girl tipsy, on purpose. However, Draco was the real problem. If his truce with Granger hadn't sounded suspicious, their increasing friendliness certainly did; he sent her off to deal with their Heads duties, but was quick in asking for forgiveness in their quarters. Blaise knew it all, because he was always there.

He clenched his fist.

He wondered why his cool attitude deserted him around her and he felt stupid. He had to get back in the saddle, reclaim his shadowy caricature of a life. At times, he thought he had finally wriggled free of Granger's pull, only to find himself staring at her. It was this way that he had come to realise just how much she had changed from the previous year.

A withdrawn witch had replaced the bossy bookworm of their younger years; her hand raised less and less in class, and her high-pitched laugh was never louder than a quiet chuckle now. It was an unexpected metamorphosis; Blaise suspected that something huge had to have happened to her, but she acted as if nothing had changed with her friends. Her questionable interest in Draco was one of the few giveaway factors.

He shook his head.

He was doing it again, thinking about her when he was supposed to focus on his homework. Blaise stared at the parchment, but her distracted gaze kept popping up in his mind. He strayed to think of the day she had received a package with the morning post; the look on her face upon reading the address it had come from had confounded him. Granger had looked angry.

"I'm quite fine, thank you, Blaise," she had said in a clipped voice when questioned about it.

Her answer said she wasn't in the mood to chitchat, but he had focused on the way she had said his name. It was foreign to her and her tongue wasn't accustomed to the rolling rhythm of French; it had sounded so different from the way everyone else said it. Blaise was intrigued. He wondered what would happen if he said _her_ name.

"What about the box you received this morning?"

He had betrayed himself then, he realised. Never before had he acknowledged he had been looking at her more than was seemly.

"Have you been watching me?"

Granger wasn't stupid; she had taken notice of his less than chivalrous behaviour, but she had waited to hear the truth from him when she could simply have made a scene in the hallway. Struck by her discretion, Blaise had almost confessed his sins before years of standing in the shadows had reined him. He had delivered his answer with his customary detachment, cursing inwardly.

"I happened to be observing you, Head Girl," he had said.

Blaise's dilemma had stopped there. He had sworn to himself she'd be out of his head before the month was over, and it hadn't been that hard to avoid her. He would see her in class and when visiting Draco, and apart from those ordinary occurrences, they never crossed paths. Granger didn't visit the oak tree in the colder seasons of the year, a practice Blaise had come to appreciate. Even inside the school, whenever he felt his eyes stray in her direction, he would look away and think about something else. Quidditch worked, but his DADA teacher was a fine distraction too.

Because of his new self-assurance, he was walking towards his meeting with Professor Mackintosh with his head held up high. The professor had asked Blaise's father's permission to study his son; apparently, researchers had tried to reproduce the _alatum_ gene with zero effect, and Professor Mackintosh was eager to inspect a genuine angel-shifter. To Blaise, it meant an awful lot of late Wednesday nights.

"You ready, Mister Zabini?" the teacher asked from his chair at the far end of the empty classroom.

Blaise stared at him and considered that the situation looked ridiculous, but he spread his wings with as much grace as he could muster, only to fight back a snort at the man's look of amazement. Professor Mackintosh started circling him in a hurry; he took notes every five seconds and asked questions non-stop.

"Doesn't hurt, does it?"

"Not at all."

He wrote it down in his notebook.

"How high can you go?"

Blaise pondered this. "Not as high as an aircraft, that's for sure."

"Aircraft?"

He didn't know what to write, puzzlement clear on his young face. Professor Mackintosh was a pure-blood wizard who had obviously never found Muggles interesting; otherwise, how could he not know about their means of travel _par excellence_? Giulia, on the other hand, had taken to instruct Blaise over the holidays. Beauxbatons called for a two-hour minimum of Muggle Studies – no exceptions – and trips into Muggle cities. Needless to say, Blaise's grandparents in Italy were not over-enthusiastic about the school plan; the Zabinis were a respectable wizarding family, pure-blood to the core.

"Mister Zabini? I think it's time to go," Professor Mackintosh said, waking him from his reverie.

He retracted his wings and put his shirt on, eager to leave the room that now looked too tiny and too dark for his tastes. He had half his mind set on calling in on Draco as he opened the door, but that slammed due to the open window inside the empty classroom and Blaise found himself looking at the body of one Hermione Granger lying on the stone floor.

"Merlin, Miss Granger! Can you stand?"

Professor Mackintosh helped the girl up and her eyes intertwined with Blaise's. His own gaze lowered to her hands and he felt blood drain from his face.

She was clutching a white feather; one of _his_.

Blaise heard his father's voice rang through his mind. _Never show yourself._ He had broken the number one rule, hadn't he? Or so it seemed, for the brightest witch of his age stood in front of him and she wouldn't take a random feather off the ground for no reason.

_She must know_. Dread filled his heart and soul; he neither noticed the Head Girl leaving nor Professor Mackintosh wishing him goodnight and departing. His alarm at being discovered was rapidly becoming a maniacal train of thought on how to restore the _status quo_.


	12. BZ Happenstance

_(BZ)_

**Happenstance**

_If you stare into the Abyss long enough, the Abyss stares back at you._ (Friedrich Nietzsche)

**Xxxxxxxxx**

The first week after that unlucky night, Blaise had been in a stew. He kept stealing glances at Granger, waiting for her to say something. How could he have been so careless? Every time he asked himself that, his inner voice sounded more and more like his father's. He was a disappointment to a family of proficient low-profile _alati_; he had been found out. The sole comfort was knowing Granger was a very smart witch, and not just anybody. Blaise thought that obtaining comfort from such a thing was a deep blow his ego had to suffer.

Two weeks after the incident, he had worked himself into a state that resembled psychosis. What point was she trying to make? She had him in her power, and she must be aware of it, so Blaise was at a loss as to why she hadn't exposed him yet. Or blackmailed him.

After having skipped dinner the previous evening, he was quite famished that morning. He woke as the sun rose and dressed himself in a wink; as a rule, he would have cherished the quietness of the castle in those early hours, but that wasn't the case then. If ordinarily he'd have used that time to plan his day, hone his analytical sense and not speak, on that Thursday Blaise had something much more distressing on his mind, something that couldn't be avoided, and something he couldn't hide from.

He ambled along the dungeons, up the stairs to the Entrance Hall and at last, he stepped into the desolate Great Hall. He heard someone whisper and turned his head to identify the noise: two Hufflepuffs were swapping notes at their table. Blaise sighed. He sat at the Slytherin table and grabbed a cup to fill it with hot coffee; as soon as the smell reached his nostrils, his hectic mood vanished. He drifted into nothingness and stared across the hall; he almost missed the group of Ravenclaws that entered the Hall.

"Hello Blaise, up early as usual?"

Millicent's voice startled him and the content of his cup swayed from side to side, clearly on the verge of getting spilled all over the table.

He stared at her. She was _not_ a morning person, so her presence at breakfast was unexpected.

Millicent smiled at him and sat down, grabbing a cup for herself. She mutely poured hot water in it and sank a teabag in it.

"You are upset," she stated. "I thought you'd be, breakfast is your moment, isn't it?"

He nodded and sipped his coffee. Two Gryffindors came in and struck a brief conversation with the Hufflepuffs; Blaise felt the inane urge to shout at them to be quiet.

"What are you doing here, Millicent?" he asked after a while.

She smirked. "Eating."

He groaned and snapped at her in Italian.

"I'm meeting Professor Sprout," she conceded. "She needs help re-potting."

The doors of the Great Hall opened and closed as Granger made her way to the Gryffindor table. Blaise was grateful he had finished his coffee and laid his cup aside, because he was certain his hands were shaking; he resolved to keep his cool, at least while Millicent was there. He watched as the Head Girl sat down and began her breakfast ritual. Blaise knew all about it, for he had observed her do it over and over again. His thoughts strayed to Draco, who was the person he wanted to speak to the most at the moment. The Head Boy had grown fond of his female counterpart, much more than he liked to admit; the instance had kept Blaise from confiding in him for the first time since they had become friends. He was convinced Draco wouldn't abandon him, but one had to wonder if there was more than friendship between the Heads. Granger wasn't the kind of girl someone like Draco went for, and she didn't swoon over him; she had a mind of her own, she wasn't afraid to go against Draco, and that flowery scent that hung around her... Blaise eyed her; Granger was sipping her caffelatte and muttering under her breath, biting her bottom lip or twirling a lock of hair in her fingers. He watched her bring the steaming cup to her lips several times, cursing mentally because he couldn't understand what she was singing to herself.

"Stop staring, it's rude."

Blaise had forgotten about Millicent.

"What?"

The black-haired girl sighed. "If you stare into the Abyss long enough the Abyss stares back at you," she stood up. "You don't want that to happen, do you?"

Millicent didn't wait for an answer and she was out of the Hall before Blaise could come up with one. He stood up too, stole one last glance at Granger, and then left for a brief walk out in the gardens. The sun was fighting its way amidst the clouds and everything was still _(even the scary Whomping Willow)_ Blaise liked to be well aware of his surroundings; he felt the knowledge gave him power. He felt the same way about religion, regardless of what his grandfather, Francesco Zabini, might think. After delving into theology, he had developed a myth about himself. He had christened himself a _cherub_, a fallen one to be exact. It had been Mémé Aude who had told him about Lucifer; according to religion, cherubs safeguarded Heaven archives and holy memories, they were the keepers of the still stars and they disclosed wisdom. The story had bewitched Blaise, and he had taken a particular interest in the cherubs' original leader, Lucifer.

Once an angel, forever the Devil.

Blaise couldn't have found a more fitting description for himself; as a Slytherin, he had been regarded as the scum of wizarding society, and yet, under that tainted reputation, he hid unsullied white wings. It was a connection meant to be. The knowledge had given him the power to scorn those who hissed at his house, at his pure blood, and as he walked in the frosty autumn breeze, Blaise felt the urge to spread his wings. He checked for possible eyewitnesses. Much to his annoyance, a girl had just begun walking in his direction, and in an attempt to acquiesce his itch, he returned inside the castle.

He debated whether he was better off going to the Arithmancy classroom, where Professor Vector would have already took her seat behind the desk, or wander towards the only other place where he felt at ease: the library. Books themselves held little interest, Blaise was much more intrigued by libraries as a whole; Madam Pince with her hostile manners and, of course, the Head Girl herself. She was always in the library, wasn't she? One had to marvel at her reading habits. Blaise had always wondered if she was poor in the Muggle world, if that was the reason and she didn't have books of her own to read, but had to borrow the school's ones instead.

At that ungodly hour, the site was empty and therefore Blaise made no effort in singling out Granger in the historical section. He checked the watch on the wall and cursed within; it really was too early to go to class. He chanced a look at the girl, but she seemed oblivious to his presence.

Madam Pince coughed behind him, but he had eyes for the Head Girl only. When you weren't suspecting her to rat on you, she was quite a nice and, dared he think it, attractive girl; her intelligence astounded him for she read much more than he had ever imagined, but still managed to be interesting. Freaking out about her had taught Blaise to recognize when her laughter was faked, when something irked her to no end but she chose to hide it, and when she was hiding something. And she always was; in the weeks he had watched her, he had noticed her wariness to her surroundings. She was never one hundred percent herself anymore.

His eyes followed her hand as she turned a page.

Whenever Draco left the two of them alone, tension peaked in the room. Blaise has started to think it was because they knew that the other was there though, because he felt at ease, standing a few metres from her without her while she was impervious to his stare.

He advanced towards her, but decided to sit down at the table behind hers at the last minute.

Granger was scanning the open page without really reading it; he had learnt to see that too, that gleam in her eyes when she was dedicated to something. She looked up and was about to shut the book, forcing Blaise to tear his gaze away from her back before she caught sight of him. At that precise moment, _her_ voice boomed inside his head.

_It doesn't make any sense!_

Blaise's eyes shot back and he heard his own voice ask what didn't make sense, as if answering the echo in his head. The bewildered look on Granger's face told him she hadn't expected a reply, at all.

"You heard me?" she asked.

He had to think fast, he realised. He grinned at her and said something smart, just to buy himself some time to cope with what he had stumbled upon.

Hermione Granger talked with her mind. She had talked, and he had understood what she had said. He hadn't tried to _guess_ her thoughts; he had _heard_ them as clear as they were his. It was such a spooky occurrence that he feared he might need more than a few minutes to have the notion sink in. On one hand, he felt that the knowledge was giving him a new power; had she learnt his secret? Well, now he knew a secret of hers too. The _status quo_ could be achieved again. Only it didn't feel that way, it rather felt as if they had both stepped into quicksand and there was nobody to rescue them both.

It bothered him that her voice had penetrated his mind defences so effortless; he was as skilled as Draco at Occlumency, and the Head Boy had been trained by his terrible aunt. He had never given his father's urgency in him learning the skill a second thought, but Blaise was now forced to admit it did sound like Alberto had been hiding something from his son. _Could she be the answer? _He mused.

"Hey, mate, you okay?" Theodore asked when he sat down next to him in Arithmancy.

"Everything's just peachy, Nott," he replied, his voice cold and bitter.

The look on the other Slytherin's face reminded Blaise he was supposed to be the quiet boy lurking in the shadows. He wasn't supposed to have emotions. In their House, labels were the norm: Draco was the undisputed leader, Theodore was the resident nerd, and Blaise... Well, Blaise was a loner.

He heard Professor Vector call his name and request that he escorted the seemingly distraught Head Girl to her quarters; he half-expected her to argue against that, but she fell silent the moment they exited class. She walked with a dejected look etched in her eyes; she didn't even sigh, sob, or sniff, as girls usually did when they were upset. At least in Blaise's experience.

_Am I missing something?_

He clasped a hand to his mouth and stared at Granger. She didn't appear to have heard him. He was lost in contemplation of this development, when her hand brushed against his own as it was dangling by his side. The brief contact had him tingle all over, and he felt the usual itch to spread his wings take hold of him. Blaise hurried to get her out of his sight, and then he rushed outside to the big oak tree to assuage his _alatum_ yearning.

He hoped it had been a mere coincidence.

**Xxxxxxxxx**

The background buzz soothed his restless mind. Halloween was upon them, but Blaise wasn't worried about the Feast; the end of the month and the beginning of another meant he'd _have_ to fly. He had been asking himself whether being an angel-shifter was a blessing or a curse, and every first night he'd decide for curse. Growing quick-tempered and feeling exposed, attributes Blaise was foreign to most of the time, were only half of his problem. Draco was worsening his already bad mood too.

It had _not_ been accidental of him to let his friend oversleep that morning; on the contrary, he believed he had done it on purpose, to have some time alone with his co-Head. Astonishing that he had gone from hating her guts to conversing with her as they were lifelong friends. Blaise clenched his jaw unknowingly at the thought. Nonetheless, dinner was not the time to pick a fight and he resolved to try to be as amicable as possible throughout it all.

He distracted himself by telling the young Weasley, Ginevra if he was not mistaken, about his family. The girl screeched in delight when he mentioned his Italian relatives, and she quickly hid a look of disgust when the topic turned to Beauxbatons. He had forgotten her brother had married the Veela girl he had met in his fourth year. Tuning her out, he turned to the Head Girl who sat at the table with them; Blaise could smell a faint flowery perfume that he associated with her.

"No more questions, ladies," Draco stepped closer to the table, "Pascal values his privacy."

_Indeed he does._

Just as it had happened in the library, Granger's voice reverberated inside his head. Draco rambled on about Italian cooking, but Blaise's mind was already off track. He had had the final proof she could penetrate his Occlumency barrier with her thoughts; he racked his brain to remember if his father had ever said anything about telepathic abilities in _alati_. However, his memory supplied him with another long-lost piece of information. The Zabinis hadn't always been a family of traders, down to the nineteenth century, before Lord Voldemort's rising of power, they had been the sole protectors of a very ancient pure-blood household. Blaise clearly recalled his grandfather talking about the heightened powers he had found himself equipped with when serving under that family's rule. _Could Granger be the answer? _He asked himself, looking over at her. Maybe, along with her magical abilities, the Muggle-born girl had inherited some other piece of magic, something ancient that was now affecting both her and Blaise when he was in her presence.

"Basically it's pasta, tomato sauce and chilli powder," Draco was saying. "The difficult part comes when you have to –"

"Malfoy! I'm hungry!"

Blaise had taught his friend some basic Italian dishes over the years, but Draco was never satisfied; he kept asking for more and, if the audience was encouraging, he boasted his refined skills. With Ginevra Weasley though, he had met his match. Self-confident and never afraid to speak up her mind, she had proved to be powerless under Voldermort's influence, but she had toughened up since then. Despite the fame of her family, she knew almost nothing about Muggles, although she made up for it with her unique knowledge of the wizarding world. Blaise had classified her under 'full of pep vixen', and hadn't she earned that title in her six years at Hogwarts

Blaise eyed the Head Girl once more.

The blouse she was wearing highlighted her irises, in his opinion; they sparkled like amethysts. He watched as she brought a forkful of _mezze maniche_ to her mouth; he was amazed at how much he wanted to observe her every detail. People only saw what they wanted to see in her; she was as much of a bookworm as he was the lone wolf in their eyes. But who hid behind her top student mask? Blaise had to admit he was intrigued.

"You know, perhaps _she_'d be more intrigued if you stopped staring at her."

Draco was doing the washing up, though it was Blaise's turn as he had already agreed on cooking. He turned a deaf ear, but the blond Slytherin was not going to give up so easily and in the end, he had to reply.

"I observe, Drake, I do not stare," he stated, drying up a glass.

"Yeah, whatever." Draco huffed. "As long as you stop doing it, I couldn't care less what you call it."

"You look at her as well," he retorted before he could stop himself. _Damn!_

"She's my co-Head."

Blaise snickered. "That's the best you can come up with?"

He looked at his friend, who chuckled in turn. Jokes had been used before by both of them, when the discussion went too far. They didn't argue, and both of them wanted to keep things that way; friendship was more important than anything else. In their unwritten code of honour, a girl was the last reason to break up their camaraderie and death was the only possible excuse. Draco's flings had never bothered him, but now that he was showing this peculiar interest in the Head Girl, Blaise doubted he could turn a blind eye at the whole thing. He doubted his friend's noble intentions as he doubted Giulia would ever keep her mouth shut; it didn't add up to his persona to try to befriend the girl he had, until a year before, called _Mudblood_. On the other hand, what was _she_ playing at? Surely, Draco's attentions weren't the first of that kind that she had received, so Blaise's educated guess was that she was partial to his casual flirting.

The glass in his hands shattered.

"Pascal!" Draco cried in surprise.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I'll clean up."

**Xxxxxxxxx**

He hadn't wanted to overhear, he really hadn't, but Ginevra Weasley had shouted so it had been hard not to. At first, he had been startled by their raised voices and, cross, had got up from the Heads' sofa to go give those noisy girls a piece of his mind. What he had heard once within ten inches of Granger's door hadn't been at all pleasant.

Blaise agreed with the redhead, of course. If their foolish behaviour didn't stop, by the end of the semester, the whole school would be persuaded that their Head Boy and Girl to be dating. However, Blaise also found himself hot under the collar when Granger mentioned her friend had been snooping into his affairs; how dare she? She had no business reading books on his family. He now understood why Vivian had approached him the day before, out of the blue. That Ginevra Weasley had crossed the line, but as he was on the point of knocking on the door in front of him, the very same door slammed open and the Gryffindor redhead marched past him and out of the Heads common room.

Blaise advanced into the Head Girl's bedroom with caution.

She sat thunderstruck on the side of her bed; he crossed the distance between them and patted her shoulder.

"Hermione?"

What a beautiful name. Blaise wondered why he hadn't used it before; it held in its syllables that ancient concept developed by the Greeks on how a name described the true nature of the object it defined.

He noted she hadn't replied to his summoning.

"Are you okay?" he prompted again.

When Hermione looked at him then, he feared she'd penetrate his mind once more and see how deeply he had been examining her in the last few weeks, and how he relished in the way she forced a tiny smile on her soft lips. She was trying to appear cheerful, for him.

He had to steer his mind elsewhere; he tried to regain his usual 'calm, cool and collected' poise and his eyes fell on her desk, where the roster for the Prefects' patrols laid, all scribbled over by her co-Head.

"Head Girl, do you mind if I ask you something?"

He would not call her by her first name again; it would have only complicated things. He sat next to her and cleared his voice, bracing himself for the onslaught that would most certainly follow his speech.

"What's up between you and Draco? I mean, _sei libera di fare come ti pare_..."

He caught himself speaking Italian and corrected the mistake at once; such blunders meant he was nervous, he knew that. As his eyes moved from the threshold of her bedroom door back to her, he knew the truth had been laid bare. Hermione didn't catch his hint though; she avoided making eye contact with him as she claimed her innocence. _No_, Blaise thought angrily, _their_ innocence.

"You _say_ you're just friends. Actions speak more than words, Hermione."

Her name had slipped from his lips, but now it was too late to take it back and give his retort a less personal tinge. She replied bitterly and Blaise needn't be told how angry she was at him for suggesting she had been doing something wrong. She was perfect on the outside and probably liked the admiration her bookworm status implied. He watched as tears started welling up in her eyes, ready to strike; he hadn't want to upset her, just the same – as they say – curiosity had killed the cat.

"Look," he breathed in. "I'm just showing you how things look from the outside. Draco is very popular and his history with girls is, well, questionable," he said.

He grasped the back of the chair he was leaning on now so hard, his knuckles went white.

"If you continue hanging around him," _And I sincerely hope you don't_, he wanted to add, "people will begin to question your intelligence and second-guess your motives."

"What you're saying is that, basically, only out of stupidity and desperation would I consider going out with Draco."

So it was _Draco_ now. They were chums, weren't they? Ginger and Fred, Bonnie and Clyde, Antony and Cleopatra. He suppressed his vexation and remained silent; he had said too much already and, most importantly, Hermione had not understood, or even tried to.

"Forget it. I just wanted to warn you," he said stiffly. "I didn't expect to be accused of denigrating you."

"Well, it _did_ awfully sound like you were! As you can see, actions often speak wrong."

He waved at her in annoyance and proceeded to leave the room, no, the quarters. If she wanted to be obtuse, she might as well do it on her own.


	13. Connexions, deuxième partie

**Connexions**

"I'm stuck."

Hermione heard her voice echo in the abandoned room she had found herself in. She conjured a few Bluebell Flames to light her surroundings, only to discover she had been wrong in assuming she was in a room; it was indeed a large, ivy-covered, decaying hallway she had brought light to. She heard the distant screeches of birds, and shuddered. She had wondered no less than a thousand times where she could be, but the forlorn appearance of the place had discouraged her by then. There was no way of going back; the Portkey didn't work anymore, Hermione supposed the window had closed. She had left her wand in her quarters because, after all, what use would she have for it at the Halloween Feast? Not a wise move.

Hermione sighed; she was downright stuck.

She took a step forward, thinking that if she kept moving the chill in the air wouldn't affect her, but then she heard a rustling noise behind her. She was about to shout a Disarming Spell, but she hadn't covered defensive magic with Ginny yet, and she hesitated. Hermione could now discern light and quick footsteps, approaching her from somewhere in the dark. For a fleeting second she found herself wondering whom it was, and she dared the unknown being with her thought.

_"Who are you?"_

She shook her head; it had been silly to ask that question with her mind, for nobody had ever mind-answered her. Nobody ever would, in all likelihood.

_"You know me."_

Hermione gasped, and clasped a hand to her mouth. She tried to think, but her anxiety expanded her thoughts.

_"Why am I here?"_

_"That I don't know. This is my aerie."_

The footsteps halted somewhere in front of her.

_"How did you find me?"_

_"I didn't."_

The Bluebell Flames shone bright on Hermione, but veiled whoever stood before her. She could hear an odd noise though, the same rustling sound her owl Calliope did when she preened her feathers.

_"I touched a Portkey,"_ she ventured, wondering if he or she _(or it?)_ could detect her uneasiness.

She listened as the unknown being chuckled.

_"In that case, Head Girl, it's my fault. I left it lying around."_

The choice of words was unmistakeable. Her interlocutor stepped forward, light fell onto him, revealing a young man with ice-blue eyes, and jet-black hair was revealed.

_"Blaise."_

Another gasp escaped Hermione's mouth when she set her eyes on the pair of wide white wings spreading out of his back.

_I must be dead then... and he's an angel..._

_"I'm none of that sort, Hermione."_

"What –" she stepped backwards. "Wha-_what_ are you?"

Blaise looked at her, and fanned out his wings, winning yet another gasp from her. She couldn't take her eyes off those things and impossible thoughts were running through her head.

"Stop it, Head Girl! You're thinking too loud!" Blaise winced, covering his ears. "Calm down! I can explain!"

He motioned her to sit down on the floor, next to where he himself sat. They were silent for a few minutes, the time it took her hyperactive mind to stop racing.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said then.

The light was not enough to clear Blaise's face of all the shadows, but she was sure a small smile had just graced his lips. She took a long look at his broad wings, white like the lone feather she had found at Hogwarts.

_Come to think of it, where are we?_

"Italy."

"Quit reading my mind, Blaise! It's creepy... and I can't think."

"Whatever works," he teased.

Despite her predicament, Hermione pinched his arm. He asked if she'd be interested in knowing the facts, before passing judgement on him, and she smiled. His tone was void of sarcasm, his kindness genuine; he was trying to make her feel at ease. She listened as he explained his nature to her and remembered all the books she had read on _alati_.

There had been men like him before _(women did not inherit the gene)_; in the past centuries they had been wide-spread all over the world, but nowadays, nobody knew what families had survived. In his day, Lord Voldermort had made sure that there would be less and less angel-shifters around.

"Is it hard," Hermione asked after a while, "to live _sub rosa_ all the time?"

Blaise looked at her with a puzzled look on his face; he clearly hadn't anticipated the question. She smiled at him, and waited for his answer.

"At times," Blaise said. "I can be myself full-time only at home." He looked around. "Here is safe enough too, no one knows about this place, well, now _you_ know, of course."

"Doesn't Draco know?"

She blushed. How could she bring Draco up at such a moment?

"That I'm an _alatum_ he does." He chuckled. "Scared the crap out of him the first time!" He frowned. "He does not know where I go every first night –"

"Of the month," Hermione chimed in, recalling her knowledge on the subject.

Blaise nodded, and then, quite suddenly, he got up. A couple of feathers fell on the ground; in the dim light, his eyes flashed with impatience. In hurried words, he explained his restlessness at staying put.

"Can we go out? I need to keep flying."

His feet were already moving toward the end of the hallway. She skipped up to him and soon they were out of the gloomy hallway and into a magnificent garden, with high evergreens and frozen flowerbeds. Blaise spread his wings and took off, shouting he wouldn't be away for long.

_"I hope not!" _Hermione thought. She conjured another Bluebell Flame that began floating in the air, and she looked over at her dress. _Poor Draco_, she thought, as her mind drifted back to the Halloween Feast. She felt a bit sorry for leaving him, but he would make up for her absence with a few dances with the Chang girl. Ginny, in between her kisses with Harry, might be persuaded into believing that Hermione had run off with some boy in disguise (_At last! _That's what she'd think), and, most likely, the Headmaster would be the only one with a vague idea of what was going on.

Hermione sighed and walked about the garden. There were shattered pieces of a once elaborate mirror on the grass; she chose to examine her shoulder in one of them. Her tattoo looked the same as ever, with the black petals intertwined with each other. She shuddered, but not from the cold. The design exemplified an endless continuity, spelling out who she was: a link in the chain that Rowena Ravenclaw had started and that would probably...

"Head Girl!"

Blaise's voice startled her.

She heard his feet brush the ground, and then he was next to her; he looked flustered and his eyes were dazzling with excitement. Hermione fought back the urge to grin. She took a few steps away from him as he sat cross-legged on the grass and groomed his feathers with care. One had to wonder if the wings were the only bird-like attributes he possessed. _He really does look like an angel_.

"Er – When are we going back?"

"Shortly," he said. "I'd use another Portkey, but the Headmaster insists on picking me up every time."

"Where are we exactly? Is this some kind of castle?"

Her gaze moved from Blaise to the derelict building they had come out of. The external walls were in ruins, and climbers covered almost everything; the hallway Hermione had been Portkeyed to was the sole room still standing. Opposite the decaying entrance stood a fountain, with figures chiselled on it, _maenads_ perhaps. Overall, it looked like one of the Roman villas she had seen in book illustrations.

"It's an abandoned location in the countryside, and nobody cares for it." Blaise spread his arms. "And the people of the village below... Well, there were rumours of angels abiding this place long before I set foot here."

"Are we near your family's hometown?"

He stood up. "Hell, no!" Blaise chortled. "My grandparents would have a fit if they knew I was endangering myself like this!"

A full-on smile appeared on his face, and it sent butterflies flying in Hermione's stomach. She would have later reasoned she might not have been thinking straight, because she couldn't otherwise explain why she had taken his hand next, and beamed at him.

**xxxxxxxxx**

"Codswallop," Ginny repeated for the umpteenth time.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I already said –"

"No, listen to me: it's Halloween, you're all dressed up, you look positively stunning." Ginny counted on her fingers. "You get Portkeyed to an abandoned villa in the middle of nowhere, and it's you and Blaise, _alone._"

She inclined her head. A gesture full of meaning.

"We talked."

"Of course you did," Ginny said with a sigh.

She got up from the armchair in the Head Girl's bedroom and walked over to the mirror, pulling at some strands of hair; then, she walked over to the bed and collapsed on it, next to Hermione.

"And yet... There's something you're not telling me."

Hermione was quiet for a long time, staring at the canopy. It went without saying that she had told Ginny the abridged version of what had happened with Blaise; no mention had been made of him being an _alatum_. It had been his express wish, after all.

_"Head Girl!" _

He had mind-called her when they had both retired to their rooms, the previous night. He had thanked her for keeping him company, but he had also quite clearly asked her to withhold what information she had gained on him. His mind abilities hadn't been strong enough to carry on the conversation, but she had got the gist of the message and she was going to keep her word no matter what. Even if it meant lying through her teeth to her friend.

"I held his hand," she conceded at last.

Ginny grinned. "I knew it!" Her brow furrowed. "Are you sure you and Draco are just friends?"

"This doesn't even deserve an answer."

"Oh, come on..."

Ginny rolled onto the bed, her flannel nightdress exposing her bare legs and her red mane covering the pillow Hermione had been resting on.

"Frankly, I know too little of either of them."

Ginny huffed to express her disagreement, and Hermione giggled. The youngest Weasley would never cease to champion Blaise; notwithstanding her usual common sense, she had the idea into her thick skull and it didn't look as if it could be dislodged. It was one of the only constant in Hermione's life, though. _Thank Merlin for friends_.

_"Hermione!"_

At the sound of Blaise's voice in her head, she jumped.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing, Ginny... I just remembered... something."

_"I heard you just fine, no need to yell."_

_"You wouldn't reply when I tried earlier. I assumed I wasn't thinking loud enough."_

Hermione could now see she hadn't been remembering him mind-calling her, it was happening in the present.

_"Sorry, then. What is it?"_

She told Ginny how tired she was after their after dinner practice session, and that they'd see each other in the morning. The redhead collected her cloak and left for Gryffindor Tower.

_"At first, I merely wanted to test this telepathy thing. I can fly, but mind-talk? Never happened. Then you came along."_

It was weak; she almost didn't catch the whole phrase. He was straining himself, in her opinion.

_"It's new to me too."_

_"We'll get used to it together then."_

Hermione nodded, although she knew he couldn't see her. They wished each other goodnight, and then she allowed a girlish simper to appear on her lips; they shared a secret. He didn't know about hers, but that was beside the point, wasn't it?

**xxxxxxxxx**

The chalk arithmetic on the blackboard was being copied diligently and the only audible sound was the soft scratching of quill on parchment. Hermione dipped hers in the black ink and started solving the equation; she heard Mandy yawn on her right and she smiled.

"I'm dead tired too," she whispered.

The Ravenclaw girl stifled a giggle and nodded.

"Professor Vector is crazy if she thinks I'm ready for _this_ on a Monday morning."

Hermione inched near. "Need a hand?"

Mandy shook her head and they both resumed their calculi.

Half an hour later, Hermione had only decoded three thirds of the equation and she was fumbling with the rest, but Arithmancy was now over and she needed to pack her things.

"Okay, class, that's homework for whoever didn't solve it!" Professor Vector bellowed. "Mister Nott, please, a word?"

Hermione glanced at the back of the classroom as Theodore Nott walked over to the teacher's desk; she saw Blaise pause on the threshold.

"Hello."

"Hi," she answered, clutching her schoolbag.

She asked him if he had been able to crack the last part of the equation and he shrugged, pointing out he would have preferred to work on it in the privacy of his bedroom even if he had managed to solve it. Hermione knew their pointless chattering would soon be cut short by the arrival of Harry and Ron, who were picking her up for their next class, and she tried to look past Blaise in order to see if they were already waiting for her outside the classroom.

"You needed something?" she asked, aiming at accelerating things.

He took her hand, just like she had done on Friday night. Hermione considered that it was such an intimate gesture, to hold someone's hand in yours.

_"Nobody knows."_

She adjusted her schoolbag on her shoulders and stared at him. _"About what?" _

The moment she had thought it, she had known how stupid she had sounded, but with Ginny's insinuations in the back of her mind, she was surprised at how straightforward Blaise was being.

_"Nobody knows about me, save you and Draco."_

He had been talking about _that_! He was worried she might expose him. Hermione almost wanted to slap herself back to reason.

_"I won't tell_."

She smiled, and he smiled back. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever set her eyes on and... _Wait a minute! _She scolded herself for thinking something so cheap. She had seen many beautiful things in her life, and though promising, Blaise's smile couldn't measure up to the other extraordinary moments she had experienced.

_"I knew you'd understand, Hermione."_

"Herms! Hurry up!" Harry shouted in the distance.

She disentangled her hand from Blaise's grasp.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed as she rushed to her housemates.

Ron scowled at the Slytherin boy. "Is he bothering you?"

"What? Oh, no, we're quite good friends actually."

Ron looked about to say something, but Harry trod on his foot without much ado.

"Inter-house unity, right, Herms?"

She chose to give them credit for not telling her off, and she nodded. They started walking towards Professor Mackintosh's classroom and Hermione replayed Blaise's last words in her mind. He had said her name. She giggled, but stopped at once when she caught sight of the bewildered look on Ron's face. It had to be Ginny's influence brainwashing her – for lack of a better word – _feelings_ for Blaise. There was nothing between them, or at least there hadn't been anything before Halloween and it was improbable that her knowing his secret constituted any basis for any kind of relationship. _On the other hand..._ Hermione sighed absent-mindedly. Blaise was clever, cunning, exotic and, though he was quiet most of the time, she had seen just how much of a match to her thirst for intelligent conversation he was. _And those eyes..._ Mesmerising, when he looked straight into her own eyes.

"You get it, Hermione?"

She found herself sitting in Defence class, next to Lavender who had just spoken to her. She nodded, of course, but she really hadn't been following Professor Mackintosh's explanation and she scolded herself for that. School was school, after all, and her feelings weren't allowed to interfere with it.

After Arithmancy and D.A.D.A., Hermione and Draco were partnered in Potions for another hour before lunch break. Hogwarts was refilling the Hospital Wing supplies and everyone had been assigned a healing potion; Harry, who was working with Neville, had been luckily delegated with Pepper-Ups, while she herself was trying to focus on her Draught of Peace without distracting. However, a certain conversation with a certain Head Boy kept popping up in her head.

"So now you know."

It had been all of a sudden, the previous night, while they were planning the Prefects' rooster for the following week. Hermione had nodded and waited for Draco to continue.

"I always thought you were a clever girl."

"It was an accident!" She had hit his arm. "I hadn't meant to find out."

"Oh, really?" His voice had dripped sarcasm. "Then why did you keep that feather?"

"Miss Granger!" Professor Snape thundered from his desk. "Your potion!"

She blushed and added hellebore to the draught.

"By the way, Draco," she whispered, "how did you know about the feather?"

He smirked. "I have my ways."

He started peeling an orange for their next assigned potion; the strong smell filled the air. Hermione relished on it as her mind drifted to another question she had wanted to ask him, but Draco was quicker. He told her about first discovering Blaise was an angel-shifter, and about how he had wanted to blackmail him, at first. He sounded almost ashamed of himself for even considering the possibility, and he reiterated how much he owed to Blaise. He had helped him become a better person, leave his arrogant self behind; Blaise had been there when Lucius had been sent to Azkaban and he still helped Draco in getting along with his mother.

"He'll tell you he's no angel," he said, lips curving upwards. "But he is."

Hermione smiled, but didn't reply.

In a while, it'd be lunchtime and she'd have to go back to her Gryffindor friends and her Gryffindor persona. They didn't know about her friendship with Draco; they knew what she told them, of course, and she now seldom brought the subject up after what had happened with Ginny prior to Halloween. Hermione thought about the book she had just finished reading. She had liked the story a lot; it mirrored what she would have liked to do with her own life. The protagonist of the book had chosen to rebel to his ordinary existence; he had left his friends and had started travelling around the world. Hermione wished she herself would have the guts to do something that extreme. She yearned for a metamorphosis; Blaise underwent one whenever he wanted. He restrained himself at school, just like she did, but once back home, he could be himself. Hadn't those been his exact words? She had never been able to be herself at home, not for the last six years, and now that she had found out how deceitful and two-faced her own mother had been... Hermione sighed. It didn't change a thing; it just meant she'd have to wear a different mask.


	14. Interlude

**Interlude**

Sunlight pierced into the Great Hall, where over a hundred students were eating their well-earned lunch. November had begun. Chattering could be heard, laughs and noisy forks as the only soundtrack. Young lovers in between tables stole glances at each other, friends talked and discussed their classes, and teammates tackled tactics. In the middle section of the Gryffindor table, Hermione fiddled with a knife, trying to get her mind off the latest accident her wandless magic had caused.

She had been in her Arithmancy class, keen on solving a particularly nasty trigonometric problem, when she had tapped into Blaise's thoughts. It had been an accident. He had been adding figures and hadn't even noticed her 'presence'. Feeling brave, Hermione had tried to follow his line of thought. It _was_ just an Arithmancy calculation, but soon thereafter, she had tapped into the minds of her other classmates. Mandy's thoughts on her parents' divorce, Nott's on his NEWTs, Terry Boot on how couldn't get past the second question of the problem, and then Hermione had been sidetracked into the teacher's preoccupation with her frizzy hair. Her mind had felt like a volcano about to erupt and it had materialised when the blackboard had caught fire. Professor Vector had thankfully taken action, but she had got everyone soaked wet with an Imbris Charm.

Hermione sighed.

"Cheer up!" Ginny exclaimed. "It could have been worse."

"I don't know what she's talking about, but I agree," Ron supplied, when his sister elbowed him.

Hermione forced a smile.

"Sure, fine, whatever," she said. "I'm just not in the right mood today."

"You're not the only one," Ginny replied, nodding her head at the opposite end of the hall.

When Hermione's gaze collided with the back of Blaise's dark-haired head, her stomach gave a jolt. _Honestly_, she scolded herself, but couldn't help staring at his broad shoulders for a couple of minutes.

Brought back to reality by Ginny's giggling, Hermione hit her on the arm. The redhead spilled her drink, giggling no more, but she did try to make Hermione talk. They would talk about it in the privacy of their bedrooms was the answer she got. _If at all. _

By four that afternoon, Hermione had already pushed the matter to the far back of her mind. Draco had Quidditch training and that meant one simple, but wonderful thing: she could go to her quarters and bathe as long as her heart desired. Yes, later there would be dinner with Ginny, and Blaise, and whatever girl Draco decided to drag along, but for now Hermione opened her wardrobe and retrieved a towel.

Dinner in the Heads quarters was Draco and Ginny's answer to their dull weekends, which in turn were Hermione's fault, apparently. The actual dinner was courtesy of Blaise's cooking skills, but the rest of the evening had been left up to chance.

"How about only Truth without Dare?" Hermione ventured.

The other three booed her.

"I'm all for arm wrestling!"

"Please," Blaise said. "Can't we just _talk_ for a change?"

Ginny huffed; she had little time for them that night, she reminded them, and they couldn't _certainly_ waste what little time she had by talking.

"Ah yes, Miss Weasley has an important _date._"

Hermione grinned at the way Draco said 'date': Harry, on the Astronomy Tower of all places. She was thinking of something witty to say when something in her mind clicked, and she was found herself linked to the minds of her friends. A blast of streams of consciousness came through that made her feel dizzy, though she soon realised that it was Ginny's link that she felt stronger. There was a buffer between her and the boys; Occlumency, she realised.

"Ginny, stop it!"

"What? I didn't say anything!"

Hermione shook her head. "You were thinking that you're going to be late. I heard you."

Another rush of thoughts came on to her.

_"Merlin! She didn't hear about that, did she? I'm not –"_ and_ "Practice, we need more practice!"_

"Yes, I do agree that we need more practice, Ginny."

Worn out and unable to fight the need much more, Hermione leaned against the cushions of the sofa. One look at Ginny's face made her tense up at once though; she'd have to tell them, wouldn't she? She looked over at Draco, who was pale with worry, and felt horrible inside. Hermione hadn't meant to grow fond of the Slytherin, but she had and hiding the truth from him was now as hard as hiding it from Harry and Ron.

Blaise proffered a bar of chocolate, which Hermione took in her hands. She looked at him for a moment more, but unlike his friend's, his features showed no emotions. _Calm, cool and collected... how does he do it?_

Ginny summoned a glass of water, which spilled half of its contents on the way from the kitchen. The redhead had a look on her face that reminded Hermione how late she was running for her date.

"You can sit down, you know," she said.

It was scary how swiftly they obeyed her.

"Are you some sort of -?"

"Mind reader?" Hermione supplied. "Freak?"

Draco shifted in his seat. "Well, I mean, reading people's thoughts... If it weren't you..."

He was struggling to maintain his composure and he looked over at Blaise for support. The other boy moved and sat beside Hermione.

"I already knew about it."

And that was it, Draco launched himself in the worst tongue-lashing speech Hermione had witnessed since they'd started sharing quarters, it rivalled with his previous in October. He didn't even notice when Ginny excused herself and went off to find Harry, but more to the point, he did not notice Blaise and Hermione's unspoken _tête-à-tête_.

_"I knew there was something different about you this year, I could tell just by looking at you."_

_"It takes one to know one_." She wanted to smile at him. "_We both have secrets, Blaise."_

_"Why do I get the feeling you're not being completely honest either, Head Girl?"_

"Hey, you two! Were you listening _at all_?"

Somewhere between Ginny exiting the common room and Draco's call back to reality, she had grasped Blaise's hand. She blushed a deep crimson red, and once again withdrew from the hold.

"I guess we weren't," Blaise said.

Draco looked cross, but he just shook his head. He sat in the nearest armchair and stared at Hermione for a long minute; he then asked if she had learnt Legilimency. She replied she hadn't. He wanted to know if it was something _he_ could learn. She said she didn't know. He demanded just how long she had been prying into other people's business.

"Merlin, Draco! I haven't!" she cried. "Look, it comes and goes, I have no actual control over it... Not yet."

She looked down at her lap. He wouldn't understand. They both wouldn't understand if she didn't tell them everything. She clenched her fists.

"Hermione?" Draco's voice had softened. "Forgive me, I just felt really exposed for a moment there."

He crouched in front of her and put his left hand on her knee.

She looked up. "No, _I'm_ sorry," she said. "I should have told you sooner, or when Blaise found out at least." She paused. "I don't really know what is happening to me."

It wasn't a complete lie, because she was aware of how bad at lying she actually was. Half a truth was the right way to do it. Draco seemed to buy it: he nodded and walked into the kitchen.

_"Are you sure you don't know?"_

The message was strong and unmistakable. Hermione's eyes shot to Blaise; he was better than she was at this mind thing.

_"You don't believe me."_

_"It takes one to know one."_

Draco came back with three cups of hot cocoa on.

"It's convenient though, isn't it?" he said. "You could have cheated at exams and nobody will be none the wiser."

"I do _not_ cheat, Malfoy! How could you say something like that?"

In all likelihood, subterfuges and schemes to use her to his advantage were already forming in his mind. Nonetheless, the atmosphere relaxed as they sipped from their cocoas, and eventually the conversation about her mind-reading was abandoned.

"Okay, no Truth or Dare then... what about Scrabble?"

Blaise and Hermione raised their hands at the same time.

Now past midnight, Hermione yawned as she stripped down in her room; as soon as she got into her warm pyjamas, she nestled under the covers.

_"Hermione? Can you hear me?"_

She had heard him all right, though she wished she hadn't.

_"I do, Blaise."_

_"Have you ever noticed that big oak near the faulty fountain down south?"_

_"I have. Actually, I like to sit to study beneath it when the weather's warmer." _

She almost felt insulted that he could have questioned her knowledge of the Hogwarts grounds. Almost.

_"I know, I've seen you... I frequently doze off on one of its bigger branches."_

Hermione could picture the scene in her mind; his head resting on the wood, one of his legs dangling from the branch and his wings, brushed by the wind. She shook her head. She had to steer clear of such thoughts when she shared a mind link with someone.

_"That's where I am right now... It's breathtaking, you know..."_

_"I dare say it is."_

_"When you feel like telling the truth, the whole truth, wait for me here."_

Hermione paused, but he didn't elaborate further and severed the link. She told herself she wasn't going to contact him, and Ginny barging into her room a few seconds later cemented that thought. She was still in her uniform, but her lipstick was smudged.

Hermione yelped, and then she remembered about the date.

"Something happened?"

"I should be the one asking you," Ginny said. "I'm here to talk about you and that juicy piece of a boy." She licked her lips.

"You too have succumbed to the Malfoy charm?"

"Please!" Ginny exclaimed. "I'm talking about Blaise chico caliente Zabini here." She paused. "He fancies you, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh yes, let's talk about what a great, open relationship this could be when my best friend discourages me from telling him the whole truth. No, don't scoff at me, I'm right and we both know it." She sighed. "Now, can we give the subject a rest for tonight?"

Ginny groaned. "You're the death of gossip."

Hermione got up and walked over to her friend, ushering her out of the room. She had never felt that weary.

**xxxxxxxxx**

The match was Slytherin versus Hufflepuff, and the whole school was assembled under the cold sun of that mid-November morning. Madam Hooch was about to signal the beginning of the game when Hermione took her place in the stands. As soon as she had blown her whistle, Hermione could see Draco on his Nimbus 2001 fly high and start searching the arena for the Golden Snitch. His teammates had one hell of a game ahead of them; the Hufflepuff Beaters were doing a magnificent job, sending the Bludgers towards the opponent's Chasers without missing a beat. Ginny, Harry, Ron and their teammates were looking at the match in rapture, taking mental notes for their own training; they didn't even cheer when Hufflepuff scored first.

As a rule, Hermione was as interested in Quidditch matches as she would have been in one of Professor Trelawney's classes, yet that morning she was paying more attention to it than she had in all of her years at Hogwarts.

She was going to help Draco catch the Snitch.

She bit her lip. It was illegal to cheat, and if that hadn't been enough to stop her, it was also very risky. She was aware of it, but Draco had been playing on her feelings of guilt for a fortnight, since the opening of the Quidditch season, when Slytherin had miserably lost to Gryffindor. Afterwards, Draco had been relentless in his pursuit of Hermione's eyes were better than two, he had said, and you owe me, he had added.

She shook her head and went back to scanning the pitch, ready to convey the position of any meaningful golden glimpse to the Slytherin Seeker.

_"Check Smith!"_

Though imprecise and nastily loud, Draco's thoughts were straight to the point. The Hufflepuff Seeker had begun diving towards the Gryffindor stands.

_"He's bluffing."_

In the distance, she saw Draco getting back to his task. It was taking all of her strength not to link with the minds of everybody at hand; it worked as long as she stayed focused on him.

"Hi Hermione!"

Parvati and Lavender materialised next to Hermione.

"How come you're so into the game today? Don't you despise sport?" Lavender asked. "Or is someone special playing?"

"Just thought I'd try something new for a change."

She had a set of answers prepared and it helped tune out the girls' voices to focus on the match.

_"Try next to the top box."_

"I think she's not telling us everything," Parvati chimed in. "Tell us, is Malfoy a good kisser at all?"

The question didn't register in Hermione's mind because Madam Hooch whistled so loud, her mind hurt.

Slytherin had caught the Snitch.

Hermione was suddenly involved in the celebrations, even if she would have liked to praise Draco and not boo him like every other Gryffindor.

_"Bravo! Very well done!" _

The havoc around her did not allow for a sharp and solo connection with him; she wasn't sure he'd answer. She started walking down the stairs with her housemates.

_"We owe you, Head Girl."_

That was a different voice. But Hermione didn't notice.

She didn't see the quiet and inconspicuous boy with a Slytherin crest on his dark robes who brushed against her on the steps, whose ice-blue eyes shone in alarm at his own gesture and whose heartbeats quickened as she passed by him. She simply followed the Gryffindor crowd out and into the castle, though she wondered if Blaise had watched her during the game, and hoped he had.

**xxxxxxxxx**

**A/N:** _**imber, imbris**__:_ rain in Latin. Spell made up by me. ^_^


	15. Storm

**The storm after the calm**

Hermione's duty as Head Girl had to be sedated that evening: the Head Boy had chosen to hold a celebratory party in their quarters to toast to the victory against Hufflepuff. Despite Draco's keen invitation to join the mayhem, she reasoned she would have felt more traitorous than cheerful in celebrating Slytherin's triumph and she had therefore chosen to stay in her room.

She stared at her homework. Luckily, the common room had been placed under the Imperturbable Charm and she couldn't hear the ruckus they were doing just outside her door. Hermione cracked _Spellman's Syllabary _and dipped her quill to start sketching out a translation; just by skimming over the text, she could already tell the general meaning of it, but she relied on the syllabus to get it just right. Morag MacDougal, the most obnoxious girl she had ever met, always criticised how Hermione translated from Runic into English; Morag wouldn't wait to find the correct word or locution in _Spellman's Syllabary_, she'd scribbled down a quick draft without looking up any of the runes, and only once she had finished, she'd check. Hermione was not like that. She needed the handbook to corroborate her ideas before she could fathom putting them in writing.

She heard her door open and turned to see Draco lingering on the threshold. She could now hear the hubbub the Slytherin team was making in the common room. Knock, double-knock, and knock again.

"You can come in, you know."

"Am I interrupting something?"

Hermione smiled. "I was about to finish my homework, Professor Babbling gave us a nasty –"

The disapproving look he gave her put an end to her studious answer. Draco was still wearing his Seeker gear, but he was also covered in foam and confetti; he left a trail in his wake as he approached her.

"What's the matter?"

He sighed and handed her a piece of parchment.

"What is it?" Hermione pressed.

He placed it onto her desk; he didn't wait for her to pick it up and he left, presumably to get back to the party.

Hermione weighted her options: to read or not to read? Her pounding heart begged her to unfold the note, and the day she turned down a piece of writing, however brief, had yet to come, so she gave in and read.

_Head Girl,_

_Remarkable performance at the match. Will you care to join me in the kitchen? My English cooking book has deserted me and the guests are ravenous._

_Blaise_

Hermione smiled, then looked at the door and glanced in the mirror. She had pulled her hair up in a messy bun, attempting to keep her face clear of it to focus on the translation; she untied her hair and ran her fingers through it. The sight wasn't awe-inspiring, but it'd have to do. She grabbed a cardigan and walked out into the common room.

The mayhem was unbelievable and Hermione resolved in giving Draco an earful once it was all over; such a ruckus in the Heads quarters could lead to trouble with the teaching staff, and she wasn't looking forward to that.

"So," she began, entering the kitchen, "what seems to be the problem?"

Blaise pointed at the bowl in front of him. "My problem."

She walked closer and assessed the contents of the bowl; it looked, and smelled, good. She grabbed a spoonful and tasted.

"A little less flour, a little more salt," she said, pulling a face.

Blaise opened the cupboard to get the salt jar.

"Why didn't you, you know..." She lowered her voice. "_Call_ me instead of writing that note?"

"I took it seriously when you complained about it," he said. "You said you didn't like me invading your private thoughts."

Hermione _had _complained, but had she meant it? She had been tired and drowsy, and she had snapped at him. It had been almost two weeks before though, she hadn't expected him to remember or to care.

She gave him a small smile.

Blaise was mixing ingredients in the bowl. He wore his school robes loose and Hermione wondered if he had so much confidence in his cooking abilities, confidence that he wouldn't stain the clothes.

She cleared her throat. "I'll get on with the cream."

In came the noise from the common room, but for a little while they stirred and whisked in silence.

"Why have you changed so much this year?"

She feigned indifference. "It's part of the natural course of human life to –"

"That's not what I meant," Blaise interrupted her. "Maybe you can fool your friends, but, as I've already told you, to me it's obvious that there's something different about you." He looked up from the bowl and smirked. "For example... Does anyone know about your tattoo?"

Foolishly alarmed, Hermione's hand darted to her shoulder, giving her away. She couldn't pretend she didn't know what he was talking about now.

"Ginny does," she said. "How did you find out?"

Blaise never answered because Draco had sauntered into the kitchen.

"Can I lure you away from the stoves for a minute?"

Hermione could have sworn she saw Blaise glare at Draco when he placed his hand on the small of her back.

"Will you be okay by yourself?"

Blaise nodded. "I'll come look for you if I need help, Head Girl."

She excused herself and followed Draco among his teammates in the common room; they reached the door to his bedroom, and there, she halted.

"Something's wrong?"

"I've never been in your room before," she reminded him, and herself.

Draco chuckled.

"There's a first time for everything."

The silence of his bedroom was deafening after the ruckus Hermione had been subjected to in the common room. A few seconds later though, she became aware of the predicament she had got herself into. She was _on her own_. In the bedroom of her licentious, libertine co-Head.

"D'you think I was good?"

Her eyes fell on the arm guards he was still wearing. _He means the game, silly._

"Definitely," she said. "You can be proud of yourself."

"I am." He smirked. "Don't worry."

Draco took a step forward and Hermione froze. Why was it that she felt like a mouse caught by a very sly cat?

"Are you all right?"

She wasn't feeling anywhere near _all right_, but she nodded anyway. He reduced the distance between them with another lazy step and Hermione could sense the firm stone wall behind her. She swallowed hard; a single voice kept surfacing in her mind and it screamed to _run _for her life. Was it the voice of reason?

"Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

Draco closed the gap between them in one swift movement.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I have something to tell you."

His hand on her shoulder sent shivers down her spine, and she had to reprimand herself for being so jumpy. _Haven't we touched a lot over the past month?_ They had, so there was no reason for now to feel any different, but even so, Hermione couldn't help her nervousness. She wished she had stayed with Blaise in the kitchen; while still a Slytherin, no one was as insidious as her co-Head.

"You know," he started, "I believe Blaise regards you as a property of his."

_Speak of the devil_.

Draco brushed her cheek and his silky tone slithered inside her ear.

"But I disagree," he breathed. "I think you deserve higher standards, _someone_ of a higher standard."

There was no mistaking the way his head tilted towards hers, but Hermione stubbornly spoke even when he was mere inches from her.

"Someone like you?"

The moment the words left her mouth, his lips were on hers.

Hermione widened her eyes and pushed him away. "Draco... Stop..."

It didn't matter that she was looking at him with reproach, when the door opened and Blaise walked in, Draco's hands were still on her shoulders and they were still mere inches apart.

An atrocious void filled her mind, and it was almost unbearable. She needed the two boys to think of something... Anything! Still, she understood why their looks were locked in a silent match, mute to both voice and mind. Hermione wanted to speak up, yell at Draco that he had ruined everything, he had – _Ruined what?_ The question hung in her mind.

_"Please..."_

A girl's voice was shouting something. Sunlight pierced through her eyelids and, suddenly, she was awake. She looked around her room and all was in order; her clothes were on the chair, her books on the desk. She felt the urge to trash the place, again. _What have I done?_

"Please, aren't you even coming for breakfast? I baked a batch of muffins!"

Hermione tried to overpower the memory of what had happened the evening before when she had locked herself in her room and after, when she had thrown things around her room. Draco had rushed after her, pleading he was sorry, that he hadn't meant it to happen.

"Not like that," he had said.

It _had_ happened though, hadn't it? And yet, nothing had really happened. They had kissed, yes, but she had made it clear she wasn't interested, even if Blaise had stumbled across them. All in all, _nothing_ irreparable had happened.

"Hermione!" Ginny was still outside her door.

"I'm coming."

She started for her wardrobe. It was odd; she felt like there was no reason to look nice. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. What a load of rubbish, and all because of a stupid kiss? No, considering how close they had got over the past months, it was understandable Draco had mistaken their friendship for something he was more accustomed to (and here Hermione was thinking along the lines of _lust_). Understandable and forgivable, so, again, nothing was beyond repair.

"On the other hand..."

She picked out a shirt from the shelf. Why had Blaise reacted like that? As soon as he had walked into Draco's bedroom, he had left with a crestfallen look in his eyes. Hermione couldn't be sure – it had been a matter of seconds – but he had also looked angry. She thought back to her speculative chats with Ginny, to the unexpected Halloween night at the villa, to the inexplicable trepidation that filled her brain and body when Blaise was near.

"About time!"

Ginny motioned her to sit down when she entered the Heads kitchen. Draco, who was eating the remnants of his omelette, mumbled something when Hermione inquired about the usually ever-present coffee pot. She supposed he had said there was none, so she reached out to get the next best thing, but the kettle wasn't on the table either. At the puzzled look on her face, Ginny explained how _someone_ had infiltrated the kitchen and, for lack of better words, _stolen_ their supply of coffee and teabags.

Hermione groaned. "Seriously?"

While her friend vilified the Slytherins _("They're all the same!")_, Hermione wondered how Draco felt. She couldn't ask him, not while they were still processing... well, she was processing, but him... Desperate times called for desperate measures. Hermione tuned out Ginny and focused on Draco; she just had to recall his voice with her mind, his timbre, his accented drawl.

_A clot, that's what I am! Was I drunk? Yes, I probably was... Blaise is going to kill me! I mean, she's pretty and all, but Blaise is like a brother and such a low blow, stealing from your own -_

"Well, I'm off! I just wanted to make sure you'd eat something."

The connection severed in such an abrupt way, Hermione hissed at the sound of Ginny's voice. She stuffed a muffin in her mouth and chewed in silence as her friend left the room. After that, it felt like an eternity before anyone dared get up from the table.

Draco went first.

Once he had disappeared into his room, Hermione found that she had been staring outside the window. It was a nice sunny day, with a quiet student body thanks to the match of the previous day. Those who had ventured outside were resting on benches or chatting near the lake.

Parvati and Lavender cornered Hermione in the Entrance Hall.

"We never got an answer from you, Hermione..."

It was Ginny who rescued her, claiming she had promised to help her with something she had not understood in Herbology. They walked towards the greenhouses. Nobody seemed to be around, not even Professor Sprout.

"It's true then," Ginny prompted. "You kissed him."

Hermione turned a leaf of hellebore between her fingers.

"Oh, _come_ on! I could tell by the way you two acted this morning."

"Well," she started, "I'll have you know that he kissed me."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and Hermione felt the need to add something.

"It meant nothing, to either of us."

That didn't elicit an answer either, but she saw her friend give her a look that said she didn't believe it.

"Blaise wal- he saw us."

"You say that like he walked in on you murdering someone."

It was Hermione's turn not to answer. _What is he to me?_

"He seemed upset."

"You're head over heels for him."

"No, I'm not," she replied at once.

Ginny put her hand up. "Let me finish," she said. "You're head over heels for him, so of course he seemed upset and you talk about it as if something worse had happened."

_Do I?_ _Maybe I do... maybe I do fancy him_. No, it was just a whimsical idea of Ginny's.

"You can't fall for someone you don't know and we've met, what, yesterday?"

As if on cue, Calliope swooped in from one of the open skylights in the greenhouse, landing with a rustle of her wings and dropping a piece of parchment on the table.

"If it's from Zabini, am I allowed a little victory dance?"

"It's got Hogwarts' sigil on it."

_"Dear Miss Granger," _Hermione read. "_I have received your formal request to meet with your mother. I cannot allow it. Your goal should be to concentrate on your studies. Nevertheless, I have arranged for you to meet someone who will most certainly appease your thirst for knowledge. I expect you outside the Great Hall, tomorrow morning after Arithmancy. You are excused from your other classes. Do not be late. Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore."_

"Going places, meeting people," Ginny said. "Busy Ravenclaw, aren't you?"

"Shush! What if someone heard you?"

Ginny huffed. "Calling Hermione Granger a Ravenclaw is hardly worth whispering about."

Before she could say something back, Ginny dismissed the matter and suggested they use the empty greenhouse to practice wandless magic. Hermione had the feeling that Professor Dumbledore had been trying to hint at something important, but she wanted to keep up with her training, and she didn't know when she would have been able to practice with Ginny again.

They went over the basics again; they did this at the beginning of every session, as per Hermione's instructions. She had mastered the Hover Charm, the Full Body-Bind Curse, and_ Nox_ – though not _Lumos – _and she could now cast a passable _Alohomora_. She had had the most fun when she had got the hang of the Bluebell Flames Spell, the first incantation she had taught herself in her first year. Ginny was now helping her with the Summoning Charm, but once more, Hermione found she was more adept at the countercharm; after an hour of failed _Accio_ against successful _Depulso_, they decided to return to the castle.

Ginny, upon Hermione's insistence, saw her to her room and then left for lunch. Hermione rested her arms on the windowsill, looking outside her bedroom window. Leaves were being swapped around by the wind, and autumn was giving way to winter everywhere.

She leant over, checking if Draco was in his room. _No one in sight_. She glanced back at her desk; she had made such a fuss about the white feather she had found, but Blaise lost feathers all the time. She smiled, but as soon as it had come to her lips, the smile faded.

_Library_, she decided, and grabbed her schoolbag. Passing by the History of Magc classroom, she remembered _Peculiarities of the Four Founders_ and she felt like she could almost guess what the riddle was all about now, but then a door slammed behind her and the moment was passed.

Her eyes surveyed the entrance to the library; her dilated pupils adjusted to the limited brightness (a precaution for the valuable tomes), and her tensed muscles relaxed. She took a few steps towards a deserted table and sat down. A few stray looks turned at the sound of her chair disrupting the stillness of the library, but they ignored her once they recognised her. She took _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ out of her schoolbag, spread her notes on the table, took her inkpot out, dipped her quill to start writing. The words flowed from her mind onto the parchment, the black ink never smearing her neat handwriting; Hermione, who had always had an answer to everything, was relying on homework to keep her mind off its inner chaos. If there was anything that could relax her, hard work was the answer. She knew the entire book by heart, after all.

Her _heart_ was the problem, if truth were told. She had gone to the library to keep her mind quiet and now her own _heart_ was against her. It was racing, its rhythm thunderous inside Hermione's chest. _Oh, shut it!_ She had never been good at dealing with her feelings, but she had started to acquiesce that sometimes it was right to listen to your inner emotions and forget everything else. Or, she had realised she couldn't preach that to Harry and not follow her own advice. Still, she didn't know what to do with Blaise. Was she supposed to go and sort things out with _him_?

Her hand twitched and a blot spoiled her notes. No, that did not sound like a good idea at all.


	16. BZ Ira

chp.16: (BZ) Ira [1]

**

* * *

**

Blaise had not paid attention to the match.

Truthfully, he had never been a big fan of Quidditch, but his best mate was on the team and he had always felt compelled at least to show up. Nonetheless, on that particular Saturday, his gaze kept wandering towards the Gryffindor stand opposite his; the slender figure of the Head Girl stood out among her housemates and he could see that her eyes were frantically scanning the pitch for the Golden Snitch, her hands were joined together as if in prayer. He wondered whether she was doing it for herself, for Draco or...

He dared not think it, but could she be foiling the school rules for _him_?

"Was I not clear enough about staring, Blaise?"

He couldn't believe he had been that obvious; he looked at Millicent with a questioning look.

"I do think that Draco and she spend way too much time together," she went on. "Don't you agree?" she pointedly asked.

"None of my business," he replied.

The Slytherin girl next to him wasn't fooled, but she merely snickered and went back to watching the match. Blaise tried to empty his mind because he didn't want to hear what Draco and Hermione could be mind-saying to each other, but whenever he closed his eyes, his own conversations with the Head Girl kept coming back to him. He had been wrong to assume she had figured him out by the lone feather she had picked up from the floor; had she known what he was, she wouldn't have been so surprised upon seeing his widespread wings on Halloween night. Hermione had seemed so genuinely interested in hearing about his true colours, and she had obviously read about _alati_ before. Her knowledge had failed her though, hadn't it? Blaise had felt a bit like that Superman-guy his sister always spoke about; he had a double identity too, one that a mere pair of glasses could hide. Hermione and Lois Lane had both been fooled for ages.

_Check Smith!_

He heard Draco's voice scream in his head and he winced at his friend's inability to keep his thoughts at bay.

_No Snitch down there._

Now, her response was much more focused; still a bit loud, but bearable. He also quietly enjoyed being the only one who could do more than yell his thoughts at her, as their frequent late-night exchanges had invariably proved over the last couple of weeks. Blaise had wanted that to be a bond between them, and he had found all kinds of excuses to mind-call her. _I'm getting ahead of myself. _He straightened up; he had positively heard a tiny buzz in his ears.

_Next to the top box._

It was her again. _Millicent is right_, he thought, _she is always hanging around Draco these days_. In Blaise's opinion, his best friend was more or less trying to win her over. They spoke less and less about Hermione when they were alone, with Draco never clearly stating what his real intentions were. He sighed. The blond Slytherin knew how to sweet-talk to a girl, a skill Blaise had never mastered.

_What!_

_Hermione!_

Blaise recoiled in his seat as both screams reverberated in his head. Draco had caught the Snitch; they had won. He stood up abruptly and wrestled his way through the crowd of cheering Slytherins to reach the wooden steps of the stand, only to then skid the pitch outer ring under the stands and get to the sidelines of the Gryffindor one. He felt foolish, but he wanted to see her; maybe even talk to her before Draco beat him to it.

_Bravo! Very well done!_

Her jolly voice filled his mind and he couldn't help offering a reply.

_We owe you, Head Girl. _

He didn't care about winning, he cared even less about his House winning, but he felt great. Hermione walked right past him and thanks to the swarming students all around them, he was able to brush her hair with his hand, though as soon as he had done so he withdrew his hand and leaned against a wooden post. What had that been about? Blaise narrowed his eyes at her disappearing back when the arm of Ron Weasley slid to her side and they started chatting on the way back to the castle; he felt the urge to change into his _alatum_ form and swoop down on them, tearing the Gryffindor boy apart. He told himself he was being recklessly indelicate; just because she had begun opening up to him, it didn't mean he could dictate her way of life. However, Blaise wanted to watch over her. _I can't believe I'm thinking this_, he chided himself, but the truth was he wanted to be her guardian angel.

He shook his head, shoved a passing Ravenclaw to release the tension, and then he too walked to the castle. The euphoria over the Slytherin victory carried on in the Heads quarters, and as soon as he arrived there, he was obviously entitled to the kitchen area. To be quite honest, Blaise wouldn't have volunteered to do it; on the other hand, as he had resolved to steal the girl from under his best friend's nose, he thought he might as well seize whatever opportunity fate threw at him.

"Would you mind giving this to the Head Girl?"

It cost him to ask Draco to deliver the note, but he didn't trust himself to leisurely waltz into her room and not test how far she'd allow him to go. He was disappointed with himself; his cool demeanour had started to crack, and he craved her undivided attention. At the same time, he knew he had to keep his emotions in check because if whatever he was feeling were the whimsical fancies of a season, he'd be better off knowing in advance.

"You know, I told her you were trouble," Draco said.

He took the handwritten note from his outstretched hand and pocketed it.

Blaise scoffed at him. "I told her your supposed friendship was starting to look dubious"

The blond smirked and told him he'd settle the dubious matter as soon as possible, but before he had a chance to inquire exactly what he meant by that, Draco disappeared through the kitchen door and a few minutes later, Hermione entered through the same door, alone. Blaise raised a mind barrier against any accidental tapping and welcomed her. He played with the pathetic excuse he had used to lure her there, but his eyes were really giving her an once-over; she knew how to dress to impress. Hermione took a spoonful from his bowl and unconsciously groaned, as she tasted its content; as she told him what was wrong with it, he continued his act and opened the cupboard to get the salt jar.

"Why didn't you, you know, _call_ me with your mind?"

_How predictable_, he thought, as he conveyed his ready answer. She seemed satisfied and he turned his attention back to the bowl, fully aware of her eyes roaming his body; it was incredibly hard to refrain from smirking. He held his mouth shut as long as he could, inhaling her flowery scent that was slowly being mixed with the aroma of flour and pastry. It was making him dizzy, and his memory drifted to his previous years Hogwarts, when her presence in the room was a given; she was just a schoolmate, one of the many people he saw every day in the hallways. The only real reason Blaise knew her name was Draco and his grudge with the Potter boy and his friends. Had he ever thought of her as more? He couldn't recall, but he guessed he hadn't paid her more attention than he paid the rest of the school population. He had always found amusing to observe how the other students behaved, and Hermione Granger had never changed; she had been a friendless bookworm, then a friendly bookworm, and, more recently, a dateable bookworm. Always a bookworm though.

"Why have you changed so much this year?"

"It's part of the natural course of human life to –"

He interrupted her lame attempt at giving him the slip and decided to lay his cards on the table by inquiring after the tattoo he had caught a glimpse of in the Roman villa. Blaise hadn't given the tiny flower much consideration until he had noticed she went great lengths to hide it; she was always rubbing her shoulder when she thought nobody was looking, and even at the Halloween Feast, she had made sure the dress covered it. Still in his Quidditch uniform, Draco walked into the kitchen, before he could tell her how he had unearthed her little secret.

"Can I lure you away from the stoves for a minute?" the Head Boy asked, placing his right hand on the small of Hermione's back.

Blaise glared at him, but Draco feigned indifference and guided her out. Had he not known him for the last six years, he might not have seen where that petty stunt of his was leading. Unfortunately, he was not so clueless. He rushed outside, forced his way through the Slytherin Quidditch team, only to find his the door to Draco's bedroom locked. Upon further investigation, as he had expected, he realised it had been sealed off with a spell, and, as expected, it was one of the spells Blaise himself had created that the Head Boy had unwisely used.

"– regards you as a property of his"

While the spell wore off, he started to get titbits of conversation, and he didn't like what he was hearing.

"– disagree – I – deserve – someone worthy"

"– like you?"

The second, coquettish voice could hardly belong to Hermione, but when Blaise was finally able to slam the door open, the scene he was presented with would have been deemed unlikely by himself a few moments earlier. The Head Boy and Girl were inches from each other, slightly flushed and Draco's hands were on her shoulders. Hermione's, Blaise swore inwardly at the sight, because _her_ hands were on his chest. He set his hard gaze on Draco and locked him in an unspoken reproach, and though he _could_ sense, in the back of his mind, the raging thoughts of the Head Girl, he shut her off.

After what he felt were interminable hours, he shook his head and left. Amidst the unwanted emotions he was experiencing, he had half his mind already set on ripping the Heads of their coffee supply. _That ought to do it._

**

* * *

**

Breakfast on Monday morning was a lonely business, in spite of there being absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. It was early, the Great Hall was semi-empty, and Blaise was pouring himself his second cup of coffee. The strong aroma steamed up to his nostrils, but try as he might, all he could think about was _her_; her hands on Draco's chest, her lip balm smeared around _his_ lips. Blaise shut his eyes tight, because that unknown sense of territoriality he had felt in the last few weeks was overcoming him. It was, however, already too late because the cup in his hands broke and black coffee splashed the mahogany table. He cursed under his breath before casting a quick _Tergeo_, and then he got up, seeing no further reason to stall in the Great Hall. He shoved past the two Gryffindors he encountered on the way out, subsequently proceeding up to the sixth floor; he was confident that not even Professor Vector would be in the classroom yet and that was indeed the case when he reached his destination.

Blaise chose to sit in the farthest corner, where the top student of this and every other class wouldn't dream of sitting; that way, he thought, he'd be set, and he wouldn't need to see her again until their fifth. _Brilliant_. He found it quite childish to go to such lengths in order to avoid her, but she deserved it, for playing him when he hadn't even been aware of the game. He couldn't swallow the weakness she was having him show, and to think that just a couple days earlier he had actually convinced himself that _he_ was the reason she was helping out their Quidditch team, while _Draco_ had obviously been her one and only motive.

"Mister Zabini!" Professor Vector squawked upon spotting him. "You're here early"

"I like to be on top of things, Professor," he replied.

He wore his customary calm, cool and collected mask pretty well, in his opinion. In the Muggle world, he would have been a very good actor; Blaise cringed at the thought, for the mere word Muggle brought her back in his thoughts. The teacher had nodded absent-mindedly at his reply, then she had gone over to her desk, but now she seemed to have remembered something all of a sudden because she turned towards him once more.

"I assume you missed your note then"

"What note, Professor?"

"Professor Dumbledore's," she said, looking at him strangely.

Blaise relaxed. "I did receive it, madam, and I will be meeting the Headmaster shortly after class"

Professor Vector did not look convinced, but she dropped the subject as some other students had begun to enter the classroom. _Odd_,_ that she should bother to look into my schedule_. He was distracted when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Head Girl come in; she looked troubled, but he told himself he didn't care and that she was somebody else's concern now. However, he understood at once that his clever idea to sit in the back hadn't been brilliant at all, for whenever he glanced at the blackboard, her head was in the way. By the fourth time it happened, he had stopped taking down notes and focused on her shoulders, on the way her robes hung about her, on how dark her hair was now.

"Malfoy's done it again, I see," Theodore said, without looking up from his parchment.

Blaise said nothing.

"You're just proving Millie's theory," the other boy continued.

"What theory?"

The scratching of the quill stopped.

"That you lost your sangfroid to the brains of the Golden Trio"

Theodore didn't wait for an answer, and went back to his notes; Blaise suspected his housemate was trying to prove something of his own. How the detached Zabini could be roused with clipped comebacks, if he was correct in his assumption, and he usually was. Therefore, if figuring out Theodore was a no-brainer, why couldn't the same line of reasoning be applied to the once-bushy head two rows in front of him?

Eager to put as much space as he could between them, Blaise darted out of the classroom when Professor Vector finished dictating their homework; apparently not fast enough though, because as he cornered the second hallway towards the Entrance Hall, he heard steps behind him. Purposeful, determined steps that could only belong to one girl. He turned, and unsurprisingly, there she was, _Numerology and Grammatica_ clutched to her chest and her schoolbag loosely hanging from her shoulder.

"Why are you following me?" he snapped nastily.

The Head Girl recoiled, her badge glittering in the sunlight as she drew back.

"I am not"

Her voice was a mere whisper and it infuriated him even more, so he spun around and walked off. After a moment's hesitancy, she was tailing him. _The nerve of that woman! _They both reached the main atrium at the same time; arches went all around the hall, supported by massive columns, and next to one of those, Blaise detected the Headmaster.

"I am sorry I'm late"

He heard her apologise and he rounded on her.

"You are both quite on time," the old wizard said. "Please follow me," he extended his hand. "Mister Zabini? Miss Granger?"

Blaise watched dumbfounded as she marched past him; he then looked at the Headmaster, but the wizard merely smiled. Begrudgingly, he moved forward too and fell in his wake, just like Hermione had done. _Well, this day keeps getting better and better_, he thought bitterly.

**

* * *

**

End of sixteenth chapter.

**

* * *

**

**AN: (July 2009)** As you may, or may not, have noticed, I have made some minor adjustments to the chapters: I added some dialogue, amended some mistakes and misconceptions, expanded some ideas, etc. I am on holiday in southern France at the moment and I can only hope this well-earned vacation helps me write some more chapters for this story. I had quite forgotten how good it felt to just sit down and scrawl fanfiction. I therefore apologize to all my long-lost readers and reviewers; I needed the past three years, to get the sense of purpose I feel for the story now. Also, forgive me if it is slightly off-canon, I had started writing it before HBP came out and... Well, you all know how it all ends in the book. :)

[1] _**ira, irae**__:_ wrath, ire or anger, in Latin.


	17. BZ Acedia

chp.17: (BZ) Acedia [1]

**

* * *

**

The uncanny party of three reached one of the farthest hallways of Hogwarts. Blaise had trouble remembering exactly how they had even gotten there, for this part of the castle looked like it hadn't been cared for in a long time; the walls had mosses growing all over them and the occasional faint dripping of water could be heard. They had arrived in a spacious circular hall, and he heard the Head Girl gasp as he himself took in the sight before his eyes; a huge wooden door with intricate carvings that, as far as Blaise could tell, depicted the dawn of Hogwarts and its four Founders. He only had a brief moment to read the Latin inscription above the portal before the Headmaster called for their attention.

__Hoc in aeternitate infixum est__

"What you are about to enter is called the Portrait Gallery," the old wizard said. "I presume Miss Granger knows what I'm talking about."

He smiled.

"I've read about it," she replied.

Blaise could see she was restraining herself in disclosing what, when, and where she had read about it. He had never heard of a Portrait Gallery at Hogwarts, and he found hard to digest that _she_ might know something he didn't.

"Very few people are allowed to visit," the Headmaster continued, "because the paintings inside are special as their occupants cannot leave the Gallery nor visit their other portraits around the world"

He paused and fiddled with the rusty key he held in his hands. "As many wizards and witches have chosen to portray the four Founders, it has often been said that the Gallery serves as a journey throughout their lives." He looked from the inscription to the two students, "do you know the translation to that sentence?"

"Engraved in eternity," the Head Girl prompted.

He nodded, and approached the door; a loud crack echoed in the still hall, and he turned to them, pocketing the rusty key.

"Are we going alone?" Blaise asked.

He had mixed feelings at the thought of being on his own with _her_, but the Headmaster shook his head.

"We will enter the antechamber together for I have some things to explain," he pushed the door open before pressing on, "to both of you"

"What then?"

She questioned when they all had moved past the towering portal. Professor Dumbledore did not answer at first; he motioned to make themselves comfortable on the lush sofa that had appeared in front of his armchair. The room they were now in was apparently small, but sky-high, and mostly dark so that Blaise could barely see a few meters ahead. He wondered how they would actually _get_ to the Portrait Gallery.

"I will leave once I've explained your heritage to your schoolmate, Miss Granger," the Headmaster stated.

Blaise had no idea what he was talking about; he already knew about her parents. They cured people's teeth, though how useful that job was, he had never been able to fully comprehend.

"Sir!" she exclaimed, apparently thunderstruck.

The old wizard quieted her with a look and she fixed her gaze to her lap.

"Blaise," the Headmaster addressed him, "you may have noticed a slightly different demeanour in Miss Granger as of this school year"

"I have," he replied, glad somebody would at least acknowledge his suspicions.

"Has she disclosed to you the source of this change?"

Blaise could swear he saw the man almost smirk.

"No, sir"

"I expected as much," he looked back at the Head Girl, "Miss Granger, would you be so kind as to pull out the vial you carry in your bag?"

She nodded and silently drew what Blaise recognised as a Potion container out of her schoolbag; he squinted his eyes to read the label. _Origineserum_. The Headmaster solicited her to swallow a few drops of its content; despite widening her eyes, she complied.

"Now, Mister Zabini, pay attention," Professor Dumbledore said. "I will pose some basic questions"

"But," he cut in, "why, sir?"

"You shall understand shortly"

"Of course, sir"

He turned his gaze onto Hermione, whose unfocused hazy gaze was somewhat unsettling. She always held such determination in her eyes, but now she looked as if she had lost herself.

"Is your name Hermione Jean Granger?"

"It is"

It was straightforward and unemotional answer, and it really was starting to give Blaise the creeps.

"Would you please tell me the full name of your mother?"

"Annabeth Granger," she responded, and after a pause continued, "née Ravenclaw"

Blaise looked at her in disbelief. _Ravenclaw!_ he thought wildly, _she's the heir of Ravenclaw!_

"How far back can you trace your mother's family?"

Hermione gave the vague impression of being deep in thought.

"As far as the first Ravenclaw"

"What is the name of the first Ravenclaw?"

"Rowena Ravenclaw," she said disinterestedly. "She was one of the four Founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"

Blaise couldn't hold himself any longer. "Are you sure? Wasn't the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw killed by the Bloody Baron?"

He waited, anxious, for her response. She turned her unfocused gaze to him and tilted her head to the side; the first question clearly held no significance to her and she ignored it.

"Helena Ravenclaw had a daughter," she said matter-of-factly. "An illegitimate child with an unknown wizard, and she named her Cassandra"

"Did Cassandra have any children?" the Headmaster interposed.

There was no hesitation in her voice. "Yes, she did"

"How many?"

"Several," Hermione answered.

Professor Dumbledore carried on asking her about her lineage, and Blaise was left wondering how the girl sitting next to him could have kept such a secret from everyone for such a long time. The old wizard seemed to sense his unease and proceeded to have Hermione explain that she hadn't known about her famous ancestry for years; in fact, she had only known for five months now.

"Who is the last heir we had knowledge of?" Blaise asked.

The Head Girl looked sickly pale, and he reckoned it'd be some more minutes before she'd recover from the potion she had drunk.

"Only Marie, daughter of Camille and Mathieu, survived, when her whole family was wiped out by the French Revolution," the Headmaster said.

He then apologised for his conduct, though he firmly believed that he had chosen the less awkward way to divulge her birthright; Hermione kept nodding, almost absent-mindedly, almost as if she didn't care anymore. Blaise tuned Professor Dumbledore out to reach her thoughts.

_Serves me right, keeping such a huge secret from everybody – Yes, of course he had me drink the distillate! Works like the Veritaserum, coerces you into revealing your parentage, doesn't it? – Blaise hadn't been wide off the mark..._

"Mister Zabini?" the Headmaster called, disrupting his concentration. "There is something else you both should know now"

"There's more?" Hermione asked, back to her usual self. "I already know about him being an _alatum_," she added.

She looked at Blaise for a fleeting moment, but he averted his gaze from her and watched as the Headmaster got up and paced the dimly lit room. He started talking about Rowena Ravenclaw's life; how her intelligence had always led her to trust only a selected group of people, how she had begun to border paranoia in her later years. In the early days, the Four Founders had always had a couple of wizards or witches to watch over them, to ensure their safety, but Rowena had always felt it wasn't enough.

_Defenders_.

Blaise heard Hermione think, and sure enough, Professor Dumbledore mentioned a particular defender Rowena had appointed to be on her side.

"Night and day," he was saying, "they would be seen together, and he would never takes his eyes off her"

"_He_, sir?"

"Yes, Miss Granger," he stated.

He took Blaise's right hand and Hermione's left hand and joined them in a grasp. He dismissed their shocked glares and explained that Rowena had grown quite fond of one of her sentinels; it was of course due to her psychosis that she resolved in not trusting anybody else but him to keep her and her family safe.

"His name was Stefano Zabini," Professor Dumbledore finished.

"_No! Non può essere! Mio padre non avrebbe omesso... non può proprio essere"_ [It can't be! My father wouldn't have omitted... It just can't be.]

Blaise's childhood memories flashed before his eyes, and the long talks about _alati_ with his father and his grandfather, the whispers about that old family he wasn't allowed to inquire after and that portrait he had so many times passed by on his way to the family library. _Mrs. Peacock_ he had dubbed her, for her clothes were midnight blue. Now, it was all coming back to him. He snatched his hand away, and swiftly got up from the sofa.

"I understand how unsettling this might be for you," the Headmaster said. "Maybe it would be better to discuss further details at another time"

He took the rusty old key out. "I shall leave you for now, pray enjoy your stay in the Gallery"

"How does one get in?"

Her voice quivered imperceptibly, but Blaise's keen hearing didn't miss it.

"Flying, of course," Professor Dumbledore replied. "The entrance is up there"

He pointed at a hollow in the wall, eight meters above them. Blaise heard Hermione sigh while the Headmaster left through the wooden door; no doubt, she would have preferred to visit the Gallery on her own, leaving him to brood in the small antechamber. He leaned against the wall.

"Too bad you need a lift to get there, eh, Granger?" he sneered.

He saw her wince at the use of her surname, but she didn't say anything; she sat in silence, head down and who-knows-what on her mind.

_You can't hide forever, you know_, he thought brusquely.

_As long as it takes you to cool off._

_It's not you I'm mad at_, he responded, relentless, _though being stuck here with you certainly doesn't help._

_Then let's go! Let's get this visit over with and get back to our lives!_

She looked up at last and Blaise could hardly pretend he hadn't noticed the lone tear she shed. He approached her and offered his hand, which she took, and hoisted her up to her feet in a quick movement. He removed his robes, folded them up and handed the bundle to Hermione.

"Come close," he said.

Without wasting any time, he slid his arm around her waist and tightened his grip, so that her head rested under his chin. Blaise heard her inhale nervously, and he smirked against himself.

"Hold on, okay?" he said.

He spread his wings, and her hands squeezed his shoulders. As he soared into the air, her flowery scent filled his nose, making him almost forget his ire at the girl in his arms. He was grateful when they landed in the hollow and he could let her go.

**

* * *

**

End of seventeenth chapter.

**

* * *

**

[1] _**acedia, acediae**__:_ apathy, emotional indifference or sloth, in Latin.


	18. The Portrait Gallery

_Chapter Eighteen_

**The Portrait Gallery**

**

* * *

**

The short flight upwards had overwhelmed her; she just did not like flying. Not on brooms, not on wings, not on anything. Hermione rubbed her temples and then noticed that a minute stained glass door had materialized in the stone wall; the Hogwarts crest colourfully depicted on it, the glass looked as if it had been recently polished for the coloured parts shimmered in the sunlight piercing from the windows behind them.

"It takes a bit getting used to it," Blaise was saying.

She looked at him with a puzzled look.

"You know, flying." He mimicked the action with his hands.

"Oh," she smiled. "No, it's me, I'm really better off on solid ground"

She patted her left foot for emphasis, but that still did not acquiesce the tension. Blaise was still mad at her; the unsaid that lingered between them, that blasted kiss that had spurn him against her, and now, her hiding she was Ravenclaw's heir.

Hermione sighed and motioned for the door, suggesting they go in. He pushed the handle, and then crossed the threshold; she was right behind him.

She took in all the magnificence revealed to them for it was like setting foot into one of the Louvre's galleries; an illuminated hallway stretched as far as the eye could see, extensive paintings hung on the embellished walls and the parquet floor was an inlay masterpiece on its own. Blaise eyed her strangely when she pirouetted, but she merely giggled in response, only to halt in her tracks when the very first portrait came into view.

It was a large canvas, framed in gold and timber. It depicted the four Founders in a multi-coloured room. In the back of the painting, Helga Hufflepuff was stroking a small badger, while opposite her, in the emerald green corner, Salazar Slytherin was hissing _(talking, she supposed)_ to a viper. Godric Gryffindor, in the front ruby-red part of the painting, swung his sword in the air with a daring look on his face.

However, both Blaise and Hermione focused on the last figure; next to Godric, sitting in a plush armchair by a dark blue drapery, was Rowena Ravenclaw, with a crow on her shoulder and a sheet of parchment in her right hand; she seemed to be reading, unconcerned by the bird's occasional screeches.

She was about to turn the parchment over, when she saw them.

"Oh, visitors," she stated, placing her quill down.

She stood up as the other three figures rounded up on the newcomers.

"What a braw lass!" Helga exclaimed. "She looks a tad like you, Rowena, sure she does"

"Indeed," said Rowena, inspecting Hermione more closely.

Godric sheathed his sword and Salazar scornfully inquired who they were and what house they belonged to.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she revealed. "A Gryffindor"

"Good for you, my dear!" Godric beamed with pride. "And you, m'boy?"

"My name is Blaise Zabini," he started.

Rowena instantly cut him off. "Zabini?"

She had torn her eyes from Hermione to focus on the young dark-haired man, and she looked about to say something when Helga tugged her robe and shook her head silently.

Salazar advanced in the portrait. "You look like you could be in my house"

His bragging was rewarded and he sneered at Godric, hinting that his House was made of whimsical maidens instead of sturdy lads; those, he seemed to believe, resided in Slytherin.

"Men," Helga muttered. "Now, children, nobody visits us anymore these days –"

"You probably mean these past decades, Helga," Rowena interposed.

Hermione decided it was her cue to speak up.

"May we speak with Madam Ravenclaw in private, please?" she asked.

She was surprised to hear her wish granted when Rowena invited them to follow her in the next painting. It was the Hogwarts library, Hermione would have recognized it anywhere; she wondered if the books depicted could be read at all.

"So, how long have you known?"

She needn't say what.

"About four months"

"About twenty minutes," Blaise mumbled angrily.

"Girl, what's your name again?"

"Hermione Granger," she replied.

Rowena seemed to contemplate the information.

"I see... half-blood, then"

She grabbed a small notebook from one of the shelves, along with a pair of eyeglasses and a quill made of a peacock feather. She sat down at the only table in the painting and put the glasses on.

"What's your mother's name, girl?"

"Annabeth," she replied bitterly.

She was far from liking being addressed as _'girl'_.

"No need to be so rude, I'm just trying to understand where you come from," Rowena said.

"I'm sorry," Hermione admitted. "It's just... I never thought..."

She trailed off as she became suddenly aware of Blaise's presence next to her; she flushed pink.

_Sorry for shutting you out_, she briefly apologized.

"I was waiting for my turn to speak," he said aloud.

She was slightly hurt by the gesture, but dared not show it. If he chose not to acknowledge that they could mind-talk, it was his right to do so.

"My Stefano's descendant," Rowena stated.

She took her glasses off, smiling warmly. "I couldn't believe it when I heard your name back there," she said, and her eyes sparkled. "I had begun to think that the line had died out with your father, but I can clearly see it survived"

"Does that mean," Hermione began, "that his great-great-something was one of your sentinels?"

"He was _the_ sentinel, girl!" Rowena retorted, clearly offended. "How dare you compare my Defender to one of those silly warlocks Godric had me followed around by!"

She turned to Blaise and her gaze softened at once. "You have landed yourself with quite an obnoxious mistress, I daresay"

_Mistress!?_

They had thought the word so loud that they both winced in pain.

"I beg your pardon, madam, but whatever do you mean by _mistress_?" Blaise asked in a mellifluous tone.

Rowena's eyes glinted and she smiled again.

"It was my Stefano's doing, of course," she explained. "He thought of me as royalty, and of the other Founders too." She chuckled. "It was always Lady Rowena this, Lady Rowena that... I had never felt more flattered in my life, and so, naturally, we enchanted the bond we shared"

She stretched her arm and _Accio_ed a worn-out book.

"He wrote a whole book on the subject, and your father probably has it, Blaise"

Hermione thought she might be sick at the sugary notes she put in saying his name. She felt it was best to keep silent though, as it looked like her ancestor had no liking for her at all.

"What's the gist of it, if I may ask?" Blaise responded.

Rowena explained how _her _Stefano Zabini had disposed for his whole lineage to become her family's close sentinels, in a sort of Unbreakable Vow – but that particular bonding had not been invented yet. Each Zabini _alatum_ was to guard the life of each Ravenclaw heir with his own and to behave towards said heir as if she were his princess.

"You may address this girl as Your Grace, Your Highness or whatever title you fancy appropriate," she concluded. "You'll soon find it impossible not to do so, I've seen it happen with my Stefano's own son"

Hermione couldn't hold herself any longer. "But I don't want him to!"

"Well, it's not like you have choice, girl, is it now?"

Rowena's contemptuous tone did not agree with her opinion on the subject. Who was she to tell him how to address her?She may be smarter than Blaise, at least as academics went, but it was no reason to allow such bigotry to persist. She had been raised a Muggle, and a middle to upper class at that, so it really went against all common sense that he should be bullied into thinking of her as royalty. Did Rowena expect her to call him _her Blaise _then?

_Preposterous!_

_Head Girl, relax, it's no big deal._

At the sound of Blaise's voice in her head, she was slightly mollified. She turned to smile at him in gratitude, but when she was eye-level with him, she realised he hadn't spoken because they were okay once more; his gaze was as cold as ever.

"Pray tell, _Blaise_, is your mistress always this volatile?" Rowena asked breezily.

Hermione saw a vicious gleam in her painted eyes and she shrunk from the portrait, thoroughly vexed at her ancestor's attitude. She stormed off, only to hear the Founder's unfriendly laugh behind her; she had to remind herself to stop though when she reached the stained-glass door. She had no wings on her back, and she knew of no spell that could get her down to ground level. Fuming, she conjured a stool and waited for Blaise to come pick her up.

**

* * *

**

_Red._

_Streams of red._

_Everywhere._

_Then blue and violet and red again._

_The path twisting and turning before her eyes, splashes of colour discontinuing the way._

_Words, thousand and thousand of words before her._

_Violet, red, blue._

_Nonsense sentences in a meaningless white scope._

_Suddenly, streams and lines intersect at every angle._

_One single word._

_One unmixed indigo name._

_Helena._

"What was that? Serena?"

The sound of Draco's voice brought her back to reality; her gaze focused and she tilted her head.

"It was nothing," she said. "Are we done for tonight? I'm exhausted"

"Well..."

He stared at her, and at the scrolls of parchment on the table; he breathed in, nodding. It had taken them all evening to start acting normal again and try to arrange their duties, but it was probably time to go to bed.

Draco stretched his arms behind his back and groaned.

Hermione stared at her co-Head; she wondered if the two Slytherins had had a chance to talk, and she was curious to know if Blaise had mentioned the Gallery. _Has he told him? Has he told Draco who I am?_

"See you tomorrow in class," he said, on the threshold to his bedroom.

"Have you...?" she paused.

She averted her eyes because she felt she couldn't do it; she couldn't come between them again, and that meant she couldn't speak with one about the other. Even if she was friends with Draco now.

"He's not speaking to me," he owned up. "It's been only one day, Hermione, give the guy some time"

He had tried to sound light-hearted, but she could tell he didn't believe his own words. She looked up, and he was still on the threshold, but he wasn't looking at her.

"I saw him today," she confessed. "The Headmaster took us –"

Draco held up his right hand. "Do I really want to hear this?" he asked.

"Probably not," she replied.

She watched as he disappeared into his room, and then echoed his actions. What had that daydream been about? Hermione tried to fix an image in her mind, but the only thing that kept coming up was Helena Ravenclaw's name, and that only brought back unpleasant memories. She had not enjoyed antagonizing her ancestor, but her watercolour depiction had really got under her skin; Rowena had eyes for Blaise only.

Hermione made a face. She was always thinking about Blaise too, wasn't she?

"Goodnight, Granger!"

She heard Draco call from the other room and cheerfully responded as she secured the last of her nightgown buttons. She tucked herself in, closed her eyes and, though it felt as mere moments later, only stirred about seven hours later, when a puff of morning hit her skin.

**

* * *

**

_Tuesday morning_.

Hermione sighed heavily while she walked down to the Great Hall for breakfast; she was cold, exceedingly cold as a matter of fact. She reminded herself to teach Calliope not to fly into her bedroom in the middle of the night, but now it was too late for that; her owl had pushed her slightly ajar window and it had been hypothermically cold in the Head Girl's room that morning. Hermione shivered as she sat down at her House table; not a soul was in the Hall, as per usual. Her breath caught in her throat though, as she noticed Blaise at the Slytherin table. She might have been staring at him for five seconds, but in her mind, it felt like hours; she surprised herself by thinking that maybe, just maybe, if she stared long enough he'd look at her.

However, that didn't happen, and she sombrely poured hot water in her cup.

"Good morning!" Ginny squealed, sliding in beside her.

Hermione started and dropped the cup.

"You're up early," she commented, getting her wand out.

"I haven't gone to sleep yet," her friend replied, stuffing a toast in her mouth.

She stared at Ginny bewildered, while siphoning the water from the table with her wand.

"What did you stay up all night for?" she questioned, but realisation hit immediately afterwards. "Never mind, don't answer that"

She filled up to the brim another cup, unfolded a teabag and dropped it in.

"What's with the sad look?"

Hermione sighed for the umpteenth time, but she supposed there was no harm in telling Ginny about her previous day. She briefly recounted about Dumbledore (_'No way! Origineserum!?'_), the Portrait Gallery (_'Cool! Maybe Harry could get me in too'_) and Blaise's stance (_'Hon, you __did__ cheat on him, you know'_).

"Draco told me he's giving him the silent treatment as well," she concluded

She dared another look across the hall and saw him getting up to leave. Hermione shivered for a completely different reason than cold when he ran his fingers through his hair; she traced the lineaments of his face with her eyes. _He must have realized it by now_, she thought, _that there's nothing going on between Draco and me._

"Go talk to him," Ginny cut through her musings.

Hermione turned to face her friend, and shook her head. She didn't want to force her presence on him, she said, but truth was, they would have to meet again very soon. The Headmaster had sent another owl, requesting a meeting that Saturday; he'd be in a bad mood about that too.

"I have to go," she gulped down her tea. "I have Defence in half an hour and I haven't even revised last week's homework"

"Speaking of which," Ginny said. "I'll want my book back someday"

She smiled at the look of utter shock Hermione gave her.

"I'm so sorry! I completely forgot!"

"For Circe's sake, hon, calm down! It's not like I need _right now_"

"I'll give it to you after class," she hastened to add.

Ginny nodded. "Don't you have a class to go to?"

They arranged where to meet later and then Hermione exited the Great Hall. The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was only a floor away, but if she got there early she could dodge Harry and Ron; she didn't like avoiding them, but she had missed a whole day of classes and that hadn't happened since their third year. She didn't have the excuse of the Time Turner this time, and though she longed to explain all her woes to her best friends, they wouldn't understand what she was going through. They would only question her relationship with the dark-haired Slytherin.

She took a seat in the middle row and lazily drew her wand out. Hermione had never given it a second thought, but as she looked at the wood stick, she had to smile at the irony. The vine her wand was made of was very much like the vegetation she had seen the Italian villa surrounded by. She idly played with it in the air while her mind drifted to her recently acquired, and frowned upon, Slytherin acquaintances.

Was she really unaffected by the Malfoy distinctive charm? Did she feel anything for the bane of her existence? Draco was by no means repulsive, and he was quite the lady-killer. She smiled wanly; she'd never be okay with being just another notch on his bedpost. The very fact that she was trying to come up with reasons to be attracted to him was proof she didn't think of him that way.

Blaise was a different matter altogether.

At first, she had resolved that it was his elusive and mysterious attitude that had kept her coming back to him, but why hadn't it stopped, even after she had discovered his secret? If she had been so intrigued by his _alatum_ nature only, why was she feeling guilty for kissing another boy? Why did her heartbeat quicken when he was nearby? Hermione Granger, Head Girl and top student of her year, had no answer to such a question. However, it was a testament to the kind of girl she was that she wasn't going to accept _not knowing_.

Blaise entranced her as only books had been able to so far; she had hoped beyond hope that they could get to know each other better, but that had been before the unspeakable Quidditch match. She had discovered he was an _alatum_, and he had trusted her with that dangerous knowledge; he had realised they could communicate via their minds and, although he had known she hadn't been entirely truthful about her abilities, he hadn't pressed the issue. It had been a blissful interlude, in Hermione's biased opinion.

Trust Malfoy to screw her life up. _Typical_, she scoffed as the first students began to enter the classroom.

**

* * *

**

_I hate Ancient Runes_, Hermione thought bitterly.

She was making her way towards the southern part of the castle, where the Heads quarters were located, incensed about the past two hours. She had spent her lunch break wrestling her way through the last part of a very difficult translation, and she had barely eaten and she had had to speed up several flights of stairs to the classroom on the fourth floor because of a few first-years who had gotten lost.

Naturally, Blaise had already been there and the only vacant seat had been next to him. _That's exactly why I should get here first_, she had reprimanded herself. She had quietly sat down and even more quietly she had began listening to Professor Babbling's lecture; it hadn't taken more than a couple minutes to realise how badly she had translated the first section of the text, but she had hesitated in raising her hand to acknowledge her mistake and ask for directions.

_You should have gone with the scholarly translation._

She hadn't even dared glancing at him, but she had mentally pictured his face; his piercing eyes, a faint frown of his brows and his lips parting as if on the verge of voicing his thoughts.

_I really thought the grammatical approach would have been the right one_, Hermione had found herself answering.

She had unconsciously rested the tip of her quill against her lips, imaging how his features adjusted to her reply; for a fleeting embarrassing moment, she had felt her whole body burn up, as if a sudden fever had caught hold of her, and she had had to wave her hand to ease the heat.

_What's going on?!_

When Blaise's confused voice had reverberated through her head, she had turned and met his stare. His ice-blue eyes had bored into hers with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity in them. She had apologized, without knowing if he had shared her temperature rise or if he had found her waving gesture odd.

_Yeah... Whatever it is, keep it in check! I felt on fire..._

He had lowered his gaze onto his parchment, and she had done the same.

"Oy, Hermione!"

"What?" she spat, descending from the first step of the South Tower.

When she looked whom she had yelled at, however, her wrath subsided. Draco, who had seen her march up to their quarters and had tried to match her pace because he had some things to tell her, didn't deserve her frustration.

"I'm having another party," he said while they climbed up the stairs together.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"How come you aren't swamped in homework like the rest of us?" she questioned.

"My Malfoy charm ensures that somebody _always_ takes care of trivial things like that for me," he bragged.

They reached the entrance and the old British man looked down at them; Draco uttered the password (_'Lux Veritatis'_) and as soon as they stepped in the common room, he resumed his attack.

"I am _not_ coming," she argued back. "I have no reason to, you'd be the only one I'd be talking to, and I'd gladly avoid another drinking session with Harper"

"I'm just telling you in advance," he said. "You two may have straightened things out by then"

He slumped on the sofa for added emphasis, and to give her time to work out he hadn't been talking about Ralph Harper. Hermione stared at her co-Head for a long minute, then walked off into the adjoining kitchen. As she probed the cupboards for something unhealthy to snack, she heard the entrance painting swing open again. She heard Draco greet Blaise, and froze on the spot. _Where are Harry and his Cloak when you need them?_

"How's life treating you, Malfoy?"

She could hear them, but she couldn't discern whether Blaise was being cold, or just mocking.

"Not so bad, all things considered," was Draco's reply, "I just got a fresh batch of coffee from Colombia, if you must know"

Hermione could almost _see_ him smirk at his own sagacity, and she was happy she wouldn't have to go another day without good caffeine.

"Is she here?"

Alarmed at the question, Hermione frantically scanned the room for a hiding place. She was too big for any cupboard they had in there, but she thought that maybe she could try a Disillusionment Charm on herself. Wand out, she was about to start the incantation.

"Haven't seen her all day," Draco lied, and _Hermione_ almost believed him.

Finishing up the spell, she approached the kitchen entrance and leaned against the wall to listen, well, _eavesdrop_ really. Blaise was evidently still standing, perhaps towering on the other boy, while Draco had given no impression of willing to quit his sitting stance.

"I believe you owe me an apology, Zabini," he stated.

Hermione heard the other boy snort. She had never believed snorting could sound so attractive.

"You just had to go and add her to your collection, didn't you?" Blaise retorted. "_'What a Malfoy wants, a Malfoy gets'_, wasn't that your motto?"

"Enough with the tongue-lashing questions!" Draco hissed, and stood up angrily.

Had he advanced on Blaise? Hermione couldn't tell. There was silence on the other side of the wall, she wondered if they were engaged in a staring contest and she thought them both childish, for once.

"Perhaps we should move into my room," she heard Draco say.

She knew he meant she mustn't listen in on their conversation.

"Wouldn't want her to come in and find you here, would you?" he continued.

"Whatever, Malfoy," Blaise spat.

His steps could be heard entering the Head Boy's bedroom; Hermione sighed in relief and undid her charm, just in time to see Draco's head pop in from the common room.

"Don't you _dare_ snoop around with your mind thing," he whispered, and left.

She smiled and quitted the Heads quarters; she would go to the library for a change.

**

* * *

**

End of eighteenth chapter.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: (2009-08-01)** I checked and this is my second longest chapter after chp.8! **[EDIT: not anymore!] **It felt lengthy to write indeed, as I had to say lots, not bore you, have the characters go about the school... _stuff!_ Anyway, it was good to step inside Hermione's shoes once more, though I find very _very_ hard to describe how a girl is attracted to a guy! I have been reading fanfics upon fanfics to get an idea of how others elaborate on the subject and well... I just turn all red, and it's not even _me_ they're talking about! Thanks for the many e-mails I've received from Story Alert. :) I guess you trust me to continue, don't you?


	19. Balance

chp.19: Balance

November was slowly coming to a close, the bitter winds of the north sweeping through the streets of Hogsmeade. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall had stopped showing any sign of sunlight and both students and teachers had abandoned their customary strolls in the vast grounds, everyone preferred the cosy atmosphere of the houses' common rooms to the chilly air outside.

Yet, nobody seemed to think the library worth taking and Hermione always found it quite empty. It was by no means surprising, but she had come to wonder what exactly kept her schoolmates out of a room full of books.

Invariably, some scattered students could be found studying in the early morning or late afternoon hours and Hermione had started acknowledging their comings and goings with a nod in an optimistic attempt at politeness. She had started observing what books these infrequent visitors checked out of the library, and it was never something out of the ordinary; they would take two or three books maximum and return them by the next day. It was obviously not enough time to read them thoroughly, she imagined they'd skip to the page where they knew critical information to be.

"As I was saying" Draco cleared his voice, "The party's on December 5th"

"Is it going to be in the Slytherin common room again?" Hermione asked out of boredom.

She had been steadfast in her refusal to attend the last shindig before Christmas break; it didn't matter to her that Ginny and Harry were attending, it did not matter that she had no prospective homework to keep her busy that night. She just would not yield.

"Would you attend if I threw it here, in our quarters?" he teased.

"You already know the answer to that question" she said and even to her, her voice sounded weary.

It was a lazy Friday afternoon, their classes both ended at three and the only thing to look forward to was the customary Friday dinner. Draco had not divulged the contents and resolutions of his man-to-man talk with Blaise three days prior, he had not told her if his house-mate was even going to come that night, she did not know if Draco was now aware of her ancestry; she had been left in complete darkness.

It had been hard to avoid reading his thoughts and find out for herself, but she would have never entered the mind of one of her friends without his or her consent and Draco had come to be almost a close friend to her.

"I'm going out" she decided and she went for her room to grab her wand, her cloak and scarf.

"You'll freeze!" the Head Boy protested.

"It's not even below the zero" she replied while wrapping herself up, she looked at him and smiled.

"Well" he relented, "At least cast an Aestusia Charm" he looked so genuinely worried that Hermione had a fit of laughter.

"When did you become so concerned with my health?"

"I haven't!" he said at once and lost his chance to argue further because the Head Girl swiftly disappeared through the painting, and she was instantly down the South Tower stairs.

She looked out of one of the high windows and shivered, the castle area looked a bit unwelcoming and the nature all about it would be in a deep slumber for months.

It made her think of a certain boy.

Come to think of it, what could she conceivably call what Blaise and her had briefly shared? Those stolen glances, the electricity that was undeniably there, the butterflies she felt whenever they joined hands or touched accidentally. They had never talked about it.

And then there had been that stupid kiss!

Years had passed, but Draco Malfoy was _still_ the bane of her existence, although – as the adage goes – it takes two to tango. She had just dismissed the hungry look in his eyes so many times she had started believing her own lie, she'd have to live with its results.

Hermione halted in the Entrance Hall, inspecting the frozen landscape just past the way in.

"I may be wrong" a voice filled the silence, "But you look torn"

_Merlin, don't I..._ she thought and turned around.

There he was, as handsome as ever. Blaise had his hands stuffed into his pockets and irregular puffs of air left his mouth, she met his eyes; they pierced through her very soul every time he looked at her, she was sure of that.

"How about venturing outside?" he politely asked.

Hermione was surprised, but she was quick to assent. The air was as frosty as ever, she could only guess where the sun was beginning to set due to the mist surrounding the castle. She gazed at the sky and sensed Blaise doing the same; she cleared her throat. It was a moment as good as any to come clean.

"About Saturday..." she started, but the words wouldn't come out.

She looked at him.

_Why is it so hard with you?_

_What's hard?_

_Explaining_, she replied, _I've had this in mind for days now, but..._

"Drake told me there's nothing between the two of you" he came to her rescue.

He was such a gentleman, though she wouldn't have minded him replacing his hands in his pockets with hers. Without gloves, her fingers were beginning to get numb.

"You want to know if it's true?" she asked, searching his eyes.

"No" he said, tearing his gaze away from the sky , "I trust him"

"Oh" was all she could utter.

She had been self-centred in believing she had mined their friendship, but she kept that thought to herself. She glanced at Blaise once more and admired his integrity, he had never ceased to be himself from the first moment she had met him. Elusive, mysterious, Slytherin, quick-witted, well-mannered, astonishingly _hot_... she felt like she was burning up again, just like it had happened in class.

It looked like she wasn't in need of the Aestusia Charm anymore.

"Do you feel it too?" she ventured a bit sheepishly, but Blaise nodded and loosened the scarf around his neck.

"Not that I mind, Your Grace, but what the hell is this?"

He took a few steps in front of her and then turned back when he noticed she wasn't following him. He looked at her questioningly.

"You don't have to call me that" she stated and bit her tongue at the haughty tone she had picked.

He motioned for her to walk with him and when they were well across the grounds, he halted.

_I do it of my own free will._

Hermione glowered and crossed her arms.

_You do it because she told you so_.

Rowena's hostility still got to her, it was a sore spot.

Blaise chuckled and the sound of it brightened her mood; it had a nice ring to it, just like his rare smiles had her walking on air.

_Could it be you're jealous of a painting?_

_Of course not!_

She blushed and looked down, while he chuckled on.

Then, out of the blue, he lifted her chin with a hand and took hold of her cold hand with the other.

"I want you to come with me" he said, "On Sunday" he added as an afterthought.

Hermione's mind did not register what he had said; somehow, she had been hoping for something else. She saw him looking at her expectantly and tried to use her brain for something other than idle speculations. It was the last day of the month, that Sunday.

Hermione smiled enthusiastically.

"The Italian villa" she beamed and nodded.

A smile crept up on Blaise's face and he squeezed her hand once before releasing it from his grasp, he stepped away from her and tousled his hair, almost nervously – it seemed to Hermione. His eyes met hers one last time, he excused himself and told her they'd be seeing each other at dinner.

_Oh right, dinner_, she thought watching him make his way towards the castle, _Ginny said she couldn't make it_.

She had forgotten to tell Draco about it, but she supposed he didn't mind; he was not too fond of the red-headed Weasley girl.

**xxxxxxxxx**

Apparently, the Head Boy was not too fond of the Head Girl either for he had bailed on their Friday night around dessert.

Hermione, Draco and Blaise had each been enjoying a bowl of cookie dough ice-cream, cracking jokes and being nowhere serious about anything when Draco had placed his empty bowl in the sink and straightened his tie.

It _had_ looked a bit odd when both his friends had showed up dressed casually while he had been sporting his customary school robes, but they had shrugged it off.

"Going somewhere?" Hermione had teased.

"As a matter of fact, I am" he had surprisingly responded, "Didn't I tell you? Must have slipped my mind"

His comment had come across as relaxed, but one look at Blaise had told Hermione that was not the case. They had bantered on the subject for a few minutes, but Draco had obviously already made up his mind and with an offhand _'Don't do anything I wouldn't do'_ he had set off.

And an awkward silence had ensued in the Heads kitchen. Hermione could hear her heart hammering in her chest, she quietly stood up and scooped the bowls in her hands, meaning to relocate them into the sink. Anything to break the silence.

However, when her hand reached for Blaise's bowl, he suddenly jerked forward, sending the porcelain flying and then smashing on the floor.

"Accidenti!" he exclaimed, and sprung on his feet while Hermione crouched to inspect the damage.

"I'll go get my wand" she rose, but before she could do anything, Blaise grabbed her wrists.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, really" she replied, amused that he'd make such a fuss about a broken bowl, but then... He didn't release her wrists.

_What's the matter?_ she investigated.

He seemed to realize how close they were standing, so close Hermione could faintly smell the vanilla and chocolate of the ice-cream.

"I..." he began, "I just wanted to help"

"With the cups?" she asked, glad she was the one in control for once.

"Yes, that" he said and at last let go of her.

She almost ached at the loss of contact, but she didn't want to go back the meek schoolgirl; she went into the common room, seized her wand and returned to clean up.

By the time she had mended the broken bowl, he was nowhere to be seen.

"Blaise?" she called, savouring his name on her tongue.

It still got to her, the strange intoxicating exotic taste.

"In here!" he answered from the other room.

He was lounging on the sofa, rotating his wand in his right hand. He looked so good, carelessly elegant. She suddenly felt like one of those screaming fan-girls she had seen Muggle actors kept being surrounded by.

_I'm turning into a bloody groupie_, she chided herself.

"Are you still going out with that Hufflepuff guy?" he asked.

"No small talk? Straight to the personal stuff" she commented, it wasn't like she wanted to avoid the question, but she'd really have preferred a few minutes of triviality first.

"We might as well" he said, straightening up and staring at her, "So, are you?"

"Not anymore" _Gods, here comes my turn..._ "What about you, Blaise? Are you seeing anybody?"

"Per se, I am _seeing_ a lot of people" he smirked, "But unfortunately no, I am not _dating_ anyone" the emphasis he had put on his words made her feel stupid.

She changed the subject, fearing he might start asking exactly how far she had gone with her previous boyfriends – something she was not about to share with him, of all people.

"Did you tell Draco?"

"Who do you take me for? You should be the one to tell him... it's none of his business anyway" he seemed to remember something, "I meant no disrespect by that of course, you may choose to do as you please" he bowed his head and Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes.

_Again with the royalty nonsense_, she mused, _what would the Queen say? _

She decided to test how far he was willing to go with the whole charade and approached him, rather snobbish, extending her left hand.

Blaise smirked again, keeping his head low he reached for her right hand and courteously brushed his lips against the dorsum. She gave a little shiver as if a soft breeze had flicked her bare arms.

"Wrong hand, Your Highness" he softly spoke, still holding her hand.

Hermione wondered if he had a thing for hands, but wondered no more when he was suddenly standing within an inch of her. _Dangerously_ within an inch of her. It had been different when he had unceremoniously grabbed her by the waist on their way to the Portrait Gallery. This time, she felt her whole persona reaching for him, yearning for...

_I look at you, Hermione, I actually look at you.._

He sighed, she had never heard him sigh and it was a most heartbreaking sound.

She didn't know what he expected her to do, she was practically in his arms and all sorts of silly things kept popping up in her mind; would Draco be back soon? Had she washed her teeth properly? She hadn't even checked if she had any ice-cream on her face, and her braid was most probably a mess by then.

She swallowed slowly, almost painfully, but dared not speak. Fortunately, he seemed to think her partaking of the conversation was unnecessary.

_What Rowena Ravenclaw said makes a lot of sense to me, being a sentinel, watching over you..._

"That's why I don't mind the honorifics" he finished in a murmur barely audible and Hermione could have sworn she saw him close in on her as his hands rested on her shoulders.

She had to say something. Anything!

But as she opened her mouth slightly, Blaise's forehead rested against hers and he closed his eyes.

Hermione was puzzled.

_He hadn't been about to... He wasn't really trying to... _

There was no point in denying it, she had firmly thought he'd been about to conclude his speech with a kiss. And it had not happened. She could hear him breathing in and out, he was everywhere around her, but no kiss. She felt as if she had been denied an happy ending at the end of a very good book.

"I have to go" he said after a while, "I need to stretch my wings, badly"

"Sure" she managed to croak; that 'badly' had had her mind going.

As quickly as he had been within kissing distance though, he was a few meters from her.

"Blaise?"

"Yes?" he was halfway to the painting, he turned, "You want to come with?" an harmless polite request, Hermione was truly tempted for a moment.

"No" she said at last, "I just meant to ask..." _Why didn't you go through with it?_, that was what she wanted to ask, but she stopped in time, "Will I see you in the Headmaster's office tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely" he answered, if somewhat confused.

She nodded, he imitated her, she forced a smile on her face, he waved a little with his wand in his hand and swung the painting open.

_I'll save a feather for you._

Hermione fully smiled.

_Thank you_, she thought.

She flung herself on her bed as soon as she was certain he was gone and huffed loudly.

"Bloody hell!" she heard someone exclaim and lifted her head just an inch, "I thought he was never going to leave!"

"What are you doing here?" she inquired at once when Draco Malfoy's slender figure entered her room.

He was smirking wildy.

"I had forgotten something and I came back" he motioned to the common room, "Lucky thing I'm good at fading in the background"

"You were there the whole time!?"

"Of course not" he made a look of disgust, "Could have gone better, though, don't you agree?" and he smirked again.

_Merlin, he's getting on my nerves._

"None of your business, is it?" she retorted hotly and could feel her cheeks reddening.

He chuckled and wished her a good night's sleep.

"Hope you don't toss and turn all night" he was slowly getting out of earshot, "If I were you, I know I would!" she heard him shut his door and she could just picture him laughing at her.

_I know I would too_, she regretfully concurred and crashed against her pillow for a second time.

End of nineteenth chapter.

**A/N: (2009-08-04)** Has any of you realised how _long_ this story is turning out to be? In my original master plan, I never exceeded fifteen chapters! Just to give you a vague idea of where I'm going with this, I'll spill the beans here and now. I have the plot mapped out for at least another ten (or fifteen if I extend some parts) chapters, beyond that, we are in realm of possibility. Would you stick with me for that long, and beyond? I feel that anything shorter would not do justice to the characters' development, but maybe you readers have a different opinion. I'd like to know. Oh, and about the _**Aestusia Charm**_... http : / / harrypotterfanon[dot]wikia[dot]com / wiki / Aestusia


	20. Chance

chp.20: Chance

She had been waiting for at least five minutes in that hallway, twisting her hands incessantly. The message had been clear enough. _Meet me in the corridor left of the Great Hall, 6pm sharp._

"Punctuality seems to be your _forte_" Blaise remarked quietly, Hermione glared at him. It was ten past six already.

"But not yours"

"Forgive me, milady" replied Blaise, bowing slightly, "Professor Mackintosh wanted to see me and it took more time and effort than I would have expected" he started walking along the corridor and she followed in tow. His eyes were glancing around, checking they were not being watched.

Hermione inspected his attire more closely and she noticed straight away he was not wearing his school robes, he had his cloak on, but she caught sight of dark green sweatshirt underneath.

_Green_, she grimaced, _of course_.

"I meant to ask you" she breathed, "Why do you spend so much extra time with the Defence teacher?" she tried to sound casual, she had been struggling a lot to explain Professor Mackintosh's interest to herself.

The dark-haired Slytherin shrugged, then stopped. They had come to the landscape painting she had last seen on Halloween night.

"He's studying me" Blaise said, probing the painting's frame, "I'm his guinea pig" he turned to look at her and smirked, "You have to stop being jealous of rusty portraits and zealous teachers"

"Don't be so conceited" she masked her embarrassment, "I was just making conversation" she crossed her arms, but Blaise's smirk did not budge.

He also seemed to have found what he was looking for, a parchment scroll; just like the one Hermione had found.

"Here we go" he said and extended his hand towards her.

She took it and together they touched the Portkey, being instantly transported into the long dusty hallway of the Italian villa; an odd sense of déjà-vu took hold of her.

Blaise released her hand, sighed and threw the Portkey parchment on the floor.

_Free at last._

He had already spread his wings by the time his elated thought had reached Hermione's mind. Involuntary, she gasped in surprise and reeled off; Blaise chuckled.

"Don't be frightened" he said, "I'm harmless"

"Yeah, right" she replied, but his laughter had already eased her mind.

He said he'd take off for a few minutes, that she should find herself a bench and wait for him.

_What am I, his faithful and humble servant?_ Hermione wondered as soon as he was way up in the sky.

She had come to understand why the Headmaster had given him that villa to come to every beginning of the month; the weather was certainly milder there than at Hogwarts. It felt like a mid-March evening instead of a Scottish winter one, she took her cloak off and walked warily around the garden. It was pitch-black; her wand out she muttered _'Lumos'_ in order to find something to sit on and _obediently_ wait for his return.

Things had gone quite the same way the day before actually, the Headmaster had been late to show up and Blaise and Hermione had had to kill time for a good half hour. She had done much of the talking, carefully avoiding any allusion to their Friday night dinner. She had told him about all the things Harry had come in contact with in that very same office, she had tensely spoke about her family, had explained quite at length how difficult it had been to avoid that her relatives found out exactly what kind of boarding school she attended.

Blaise had nodded here and there, he had weakly smiled at some funny anecdotes, but he had never truly taken part in Hermione's semi-monologue. She had thought he might have been uneasy about the upcoming talk with the Headmaster, but his face had not betrayed any unsolicited emotions.

_Damn him and his poker face_, she thought heatedly.

The heat was an issue too; she found it increasingly hard to conceal the increase in temperature her body underwent in his presence, especially because he'd share it with her.

Hermione looked at the sky from the not-so-comfy bench she had quite literally stumbled upon. A faint white dot was hovering somewhere above the trees.

"Nox" she mumbled and darkness fell all around her once more.

She liked it at night, it was always quiet and peaceful both at Hogwarts and back home, the ideal situation to bury her head in books and possibly study. She shook her head, Ginny would scold her for thinking about studying right _there_, right _then_.

They had chatted at the Three Broomsticks the afternoon before, merrily chatted about more or less everything. At first, Hermione had not wanted to confide in her friend about the previous night (or day, for that matter), mainly because it would have mortified her to see the already wide-spread grin on Ginny's face widen even more. But the Weasley girl had played nice, she had listened and refrained from inappropriate comments on Blaise; though Hermione had definitely seen her smirk when she had thought she wasn't looking.

"Ravenclaw!" he was back, and he was scanning the area where she assumed he had seen her wand-light only a few minutes before.

She walked over to him, but he seemed not to have noticed and a shrewd idea struck her. She tiptoed until she was right behind his left fluffy appendix – he'd kill her if he knew she had called his wings _fluffy_ – she reached out, closed her palm around the wing and pulled the feathers. He yelped in pain.

"What the hell was that for!?" Blaise rounded on her in shock and she retreated a few steps, holding three feathers in her hand with a triumphant smile.

_You had promised me one of these..._

_That was not an invitation to come and get it for yourself!_

Hermione took a step forward and joined her hands behind her back.

_Are you mad? _she asked.

He had not sounded angry, only piqued a little, but with him, she was never completely sure.

"No, of course not" he said and his wings told her he was relaxing, they loosely dangled by his sides.

She advanced some more, he stared at her.

"I apologize" she smiled wanly, "It didn't hurt that much, did it?" at that he shook his head, "Good" it was more or less a whisper to herself.

Hermione felt lucky to have such a showy companion for that night as she wouldn't have been able too see him if it weren't for those conspicuous wings. The moonlight shone on his feathers and a sort of halo hung around Blaise, throwing light on the surrounding area.

"We haven't talked about it yet" he had certainly woken her from her reverie, but it had caught her breath.

She had failed to follow his train of thought, for when he explained that it was what the Headmaster had told them the day before that he was talking about, Hermione sighed in relief, winning a puzzled look from the angel-shifter. Professor Dumbledore had explained that, as their schedules already allowed them to see each other everyday, there was no need to adjust them, but at that point he had sighed deeply and looked at them in the eye.

"Madam Ravenclaw would have wished me to tell you how crucial it is that you both keep your distance" when they hadn't seemed to comprehend, he had felt compelled to continue, "While the bond created by your ancestor, Mister Zabini, grants you both a close understanding of one another, it does not imply anything more than that" and he had gone on at length to spell out that it was rather desirable for them not to get too attached to each other, not to develop any feelings because history was full of examples of how bad the situation could turn out to be if they did.

It had not been a pleasant tirade to listen to.

Not even close, in Hermione's mind, but she hadn't tried to mind-talk to Blaise at that moment and she had had her Heads duties to dash to once the Headmaster had finished with them.

So, he was right, they still hadn't talked about it.

**

* * *

**

"Do you think they had an affair?" Blaise was hovering a few feet above the ground while Hermione sat cross-legged on the bench.

"Rowena and her sentinel?" she questioned back.

"My grandfather used to tell me all kinds of stories about Stefano" he had a faraway look in his eyes, "He was arrogant, he'd say, and very much ill-tempered"

"I can't imagine such a guy as the head of a guard" she couldn't help interrupting, but he wasn't bothered and instead sat down next to her.

"I can't either" he said, "So why did Madam Ravenclaw trust him so much?"

"You think something else was going on" she concluded and he nodded.

"What other reason would be there to keep us" he gestured from himself to her, "Apart?"

"His son" Hermione whispered because she had just remembered something Rowena had said in the Portrait Gallery.

She tried to reason with Blaise just what her foremother had meant when she had mentioned that he might not be able to subdue the vow to look upon Hermione as royalty material. Maybe Stefano's son had tried to, had tried so hard something terrible had happened.

"It's stretched out" Blaise admonished her.

"Well, yes" she blushed, "But it's better than thinking they slept together..." she looked up at him and he had a mischievous smile on his lips, "What?"

"Come fly with me" he said and she didn't even have the time to voice her thoughts before her mind had its say.

_No way!_

_I won't take no for an answer, Hermione._

The sly boy had done the trick by using her given name. He got up, took a few steps onward and waited for her to join him.

_I'm afraid of heights_, she told him frantically, but she still approached him.

_I know, I saw you in our first year._

_Then you should know better than to suggest flying_, she replied. _Especially with you_, she added to herself.

He gently slid one arm around her waist, she timidly allowed herself to be clasped in his embrace and he smiled, a true smile, one of those who had Hermione's legs give away. And then up they went and it was completely different that the handful of meters she had experienced in the small dark room of the castle.

The temperature decreased slightly, the chilly air of the night was finally getting to her and she was glad for Blaise's warm chest against her body.

_The view's amazing, isn't it?_

_You want me to look down too!?_ she gave him a frightened glance and he shook his head, amused.

_Then you'll have to trust my judgement._

_Gladly_.

She tried to forget about her feet dangling, but unconsciously her muscles tensed and her grip around Blaise's chest tightened.

"Hermione!" he called, "Relax! Enjoy the ride!" he squeezed her for an instant while he gradually began descending.

She thought it was easy for him to tell her to take it easy, he had been almost like a bird all his life, while she had had to pass the opportunity to climb the Eiffel Tower.

She shivered; it was indeed a bad memory of hers.

_Cold?_

His concern made her happy, to know that he cared made her forget about the height and she lied, saying that yes, she was getting rather cold actually. He apologized and brought them back to land, at the opposite side of where they had taken off.

"Here, take my cloak too" he said, handing it to her, "I really don't need it"

"Thanks" she took it in her hands and wrapped it around her shoulders. The green inlay was a change of scenery that she did not mind at all, for the moment.

Blaise shrugged and drew his wings back, zipped his sweatshirt up and looked at her.

"We should get going" he stated, "May I escort you, Your Grace?" he offered his left arm.

"You may" she indulged him and, arm in arm, they walked inside the abandoned villa.

Blaise had told her that around eleven, the Portkey would be functioning again; just this once, he had told her.

_I shouldn't get used to these end-of-the-month escapades then? _she wondered.

**

* * *

**

It had been snowing that Monday morning when Hermione had opened her eyes and woken up. A soft white powder falling from the sky, she almost could not believe she had been in the mild climate of southern Europe a few hours earlier.

Her morning routine had pushed aside every other thought and she had cheerfully made her way to the sixth floor, composing herself just out of the Arithmancy classroom.

"Aren't we in an awfully good mood" Blaise had said when she had sat down next to him. She had beamed.

"It's snowing!"

"Good morning to you too" he had replied, but Hermione had seen his features relaxing into a half-smile, just a little.

Professor Vector, unlike her usual standards, had given a stimulating lecture, forcing the Head Girl to keep her head low and scribble notes furiously.

She hadn't had the chance to talk to Blaise when class ended because Harry and Ron were already waiting for her outside; she had really come to dislike the two-hour straight DADA class she had to attend on Mondays. She had watched Professor Mackintosh closely that day, recalling Blaise's subtle innuendo the evening before.

"Why are you blushing all of a sudden?" Harry had asked, catching her inattentive.

"No reason" she had lied, but she was not very good at lying and her friend had seen her through at once.

"You've become increasingly distant, Herms" he had said, hoping to at least annoy her by using the hated nickname.

No such luck.

Hermione had changed the subject, had muttered they were not supposed to chitchat in class and then focused her gaze on the wall behind the teacher once more. She had thought about the night she had hoped Blaise was going to kiss her, she had dwelled on the feelings of dissatisfaction that him not doing it had caused and by her Potions class she had resolved in doing something about it.

"Any action yet?" he wanted to provoke her, even if he was quietly chopping ginger roots and not even glancing at her.

"You know, Draco, it is starting to get old" she replied, not giving away how she felt on the subject.

"I take that as no" his eyes left the table to wander to the other side of the room, where Blaise was advancing on Professor Snape with Millicent Bulstrode.

"There will be though" she whispered, loud enough for him to hear and, subsequently, turn wide-eyed.

She thought he was going to come up with something witty to retort, maybe even ridicule her, but he smirked, opened and closed his mouth once before speaking again.

"I can't believe I'm actually talking with you about this" he said and raised a hand when she threatened to interrupt, "Nonetheless, I'm not blind"

"What do you mean?" she settled she'd get back at him for maligning her later.

"Your naiveté still astounds me at times" he tilted his head in the direction of his fellow housemates, "I've seen the way he looks at you" at that, he had her flush with colour, "So, what I'm trying to say is, if you need help" he pointed a finger at himself, "You know where I live" he gave her a half-smirk _(or a half-smile, for once she couldn't tell) _and finished chopping his ginger roots.

"You really live up to your family name" she tried not to sound amused, while she was actually quite in the mood to laugh. Having said that, it was still Professor Snape's class.

"Trust me" he dished the ingredients in the cauldron, "He's gonna _thank_ me for double-dealing him" and at the end of the hour, when he lingered in the classroom, Hermione had plenty of time to approach Blaise, standing in the doorway, and ask him to accompany her to Ancient Runes.

_I saw you two engaged in deep conversation._

_You could say that, yes._

She set her mind on not giving away any details; first and foremost, it would embarrass her to no end if Blaise actually found out she had been discussing how to pursue him, the very boy walking next to her.

And in the second place...

_There's still nothing between us, just to be clear_, she was quick in adding.

She looked at him sideways, he sighed with evident relief. And she was in bliss, because she was the one he was jealous of.

She would have to rectify the non-kissing circumstances herself, for it was plain to see he had not realized she felt the same way about him as Draco had confirmed he felt about her. In the midst of all her Ravenclaw legacy worry, she had quite forgotten how messy feelings could get if you did not tend to them.

End of twentieth chapter.

**

* * *

A/N: (2009-08-09)** I'd like to thank the 3W reviewers – _**Wunmiii**_, _**Wicked**_ _**Winter**_ and _**wend888**_ – because you were a fresh change from all the story / author / favorite alerts I've been getting. I am curious though, how exactly did you come across this story? For the record, please bear in mind that you are all currently seeing things through the Hermione's filter and... she enjoys thinking she has the upper hand. I guess you'll see what I mean when I get to tell Blaise's side of the story.


	21. Devious Designs

chp.21: Devious designs

* * *

Tuesday.

Hermione had postponed entering the classroom to the last minute, it was all part of the plan, but it had been difficult dodging her two best friends on the way from the Defence lesson. Still, it couldn't be helped, she'd get one shot and one shot only at sitting next to him and that was if she arrived late. Of course, she'd never be late for class, so she was fidgeting outside waiting for the bell to ring. It rang and she pushed the door open.

Professor McGonangall stared at her, then kindly asked her to take a seat.

"I'm afraid there's only one left" she said and pointed at the lone chair in the front row.

Hermione smiled and, sliding past a bewildered Harry and a vexed Ron, she gracefully sat next to the Blaise, who did not look too pleased with the turn of events as well.

"Good morning" she spoke softly and, she hoped, silkily.

She could hardly keep from giggling, but that would have ruined everything, so she just took wand, parchment, ink and quill out and concentrated on Professor McGonagall's voice.

Halfway through her lecture, Hermione had planned to not-so-casually drop her quill or her wand or something and, again not-so-casually, brush slightly against Blaise. She was wondering how to pull it off, when something very much unplanned occurred.

"Did she say 16_15_ or 16_50_?" he leaned towards her notes and his shoulder hit hers.

In the blink of an eye, all her previous confidence vanished and she flushed red, stuttering in her reply. Blaise smiled at her wanly, maybe not even noticing her cheeks, and bent on his parchment. Hermione tuned the entire class out.

_I missed my chance_, she thought, _I missed my chance to act! Why did I have to get so nervous now? Idiot! Oh, this is really bad... If I can't be sure of myself whenever he gives me his attention, I won't get anywhere! I have to act! _

She sighed, stealing a glance at him. She took down notes for the rest of the time, silently castigating herself for not being bold enough.

Once she set foot in the dungeons though, she _knew_ there was someone else she'd get scolded by.

"What the hell were you sorted into Gryffindor for?" Draco hissed when she had finished retelling of her morning failure.

Granted, at first he had laughed at her, then he had criticized her sorry excuse for a plan and, in the end, he had resolved in agreeing she was an idiot.

"Maybe I should just talk to him"

"How is that better?" Hermione asked, her eyes downcast.

She had lost the will to concoct the potion too.

"I don't know, what I do know is that at the rate you're going, you'll never tell him" he handed her the knife.

She resumed severing the berries of the belladonna from the twig.

"Help me" she said through gritted teeth.

Really, the _bane_ of her existence.

Draco Malfoy, seven years worth of Slytherin scheming and plotting, smirked in his customary way and proceeded in telling her how she was going to win Blaise over, verbatim.

_You have to make your own destiny_, she would have repeated to herself on the way to her Ancient Runes class.

And she did believe in it, she just had a hard time getting it across.

As instructed, she had waited for Blaise outside the classroom and when he had arrived, she had cautiously offered to sit beside him. He had eyed her suspiciously, as Draco had said he would, but she had been ready.

Some words in the translation due Friday had distressed her, she'd have really appreciate taking a look at his notes in class and perhaps, she had been very keen on making it sound like she had just come up with the idea, they could revise together in their spare hour on Friday.

Blaise had visibly relaxed and agreed without giving the matter a second thought.

_Still, I hate proving Draco right. _

But she had to admit, her first day of trying and she had won once and lost once, it was a good average.

**

* * *

**

Wednesday.

All morning, they were going to be side by side all morning.

When she had opened her eyes and realized it, Hermione had wanted to squeal with delight. Then, she had got up, dressed and sat down at her desk to think about what Draco had told her.

Blaise was not very talkative, but she had already guessed that, and he did not like giggling girls, her co-Head had stressed that point greatly and she had been horrified.

_Have I done it in his presence?_

She could not remember, but it wouldn't have surprising if she had. She was a girl and girls giggled at times, it was only natural. Hermione had sighed and after breakfast she had slowly made her way to the greenhouses.

There was no way she'd be able to work beside him, she always partnered with Neville in Herbology, but for the first time, she looked at him while he dug into the soil with his hands. She herself hated re-potting; it took hours to get the dirt off, magic or no magic.

Blaise seemed to enjoy the hard work and she recalled reading something with Ginny in the library, his family had some vineyards in Italy or was it cereal crops? They were into agriculture nonetheless and she imagined he'd help out during the summer.

"Pass the shovel" she told Neville.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Hermione" he replied, "Hannah borrowed it a minute ago"

"That's okay"

She watched her friend get back to work and started tidying up, the hour was almost up and Hannah Abbott would not be able to return the shovel in time even if she tried.

In some ways, it suited Hermione perfectly.

"See you in Transfiguration!" Neville yelled, waving at her as he waited to speak to Professor Sprout.

She was waving back when Blaise stepped into view. His hands were as dirty, if not more, as hers, and he was sulking.

"That Abbott girl" he said, "She yaps about your friend there all the time"

"I didn't know she fancied him" she said, sincerely surprised.

He shook his head dejectedly and they made their way to the sixth floor. She was beginning to doubt they would make it in time if they didn't hasten their pace, but Blaise's legs would not follow her lead whenever she tried to sprint their walk.

It was really turning out to be a _walk_ and Hermione thought she might just as well make some conversation.

"Draco's giving another party this weekend"

"I know" he said, "I'm the bartender"

"Oh, right, I forgot" she replied.

He had crushed her attempt at small talk without even looking at her and she had almost felt a hint of annoyance in his voice.

_I am not going to give up that easily_, she resolved.

"Do you mind serving drinks to your housemates?" _Gosh, that was such a stupid question._

"It's not only Slytherins" he pointed out, "And tending bar is better than having to actually participate"

"You don't like parties then"

"I don't like meaningless conversations in an even meaningless situation" he shot back, but after a twitch of his lips, his features softened, "I like our Friday night dinners though" he stared at her.

_Blaise one, Hermione nil_.

She bowed her head and focused on her feet walking for a while, but she forced herself to get back on the saddle or she wouldn't hear the end of it when Draco found out.

"Can I sit with you in Transfiguration?" she blurted out when the classroom drew near.

Blaise looked puzzled for a second, but he recovered instantly and inclined his head.

"Your wish is my command, milady" he brushed past her and entered.

_What a very sly cat he is, _Hermione thought, _he knows just where to stop before crossing the line._

**

* * *

**

Thursday.

Overnight, the Hogwarts grounds had been covered by a thick layer of snow and chattering about Christmas plans and holidays had taken over the school. Hermione glared at the piece of parchment in front of her, willing the brainteaser on it to solve itself because she was too tired to even try.

She had been up late because the sudden excess of snowy weather had urged half the student body to swarm in the hallways way past curfew and she was on Heads duty.

_On my own for a change_, she gritted her teeth.

"You need to double the sum" she heard her classmate say and turned to smile wanly at her.

"Thanks, Mandy"

"No problem!" she smiled back.

Hermione fought a yawn and resumed her calculations, but it was really hard to concentrate and by the end of class she had only solved half the problem and not in a satisfactory way, not up to her usual standards. Her mood was slowly turning sour.

"Miss Granger" Professor Vector called her when she was already through the doorway, "May I have a word?"

And when she nodded, the teacher approached her. She told her she had looked her latest assignment over and she was not at all pleased.

"Was my reasoning wrong?" she asked anxiously.

"No" Professor Vector crossed her arms, "It was imprecise though, and frankly, it was not up to your usual standards"

"I see" Hermione spoke even if she was devastated, "I'll do better next time, madam" she could not understand how it could have happened, she was always so scrupulous in her work and, especially if she had to turn it in, she double checked everything.

She felt like skipping Potions altogether, tears starting to well up in her eyes. She started thinking that maybe the Headmaster and Madam Ravenclaw were right, any kind of feelings would interfere in her life, maybe even Blaise's life.

_Can I allow it?_ she wondered, _Can I live with myself if my grades fail?_

But she knew she couldn't do it, being a good student was part of who she was. She got up early and went to bed late to study, to study instead of partying.

_The party..._

Her mind flew straight to Draco and the previous night, when she had finally agreed to _'grace them with her presence'_, as she had teased him.

Looking at the dungeon door, she sighed. There was no turning back now, not if she wanted Draco to take even the slightest interest in their Heads duties.

"And don't even think about moping around the bar the whole bloody time" her Potions partner whispered to her.

"Do I look like one of those girls?" she scoffed back at him.

"As a rule, no, you don't" he replied, "However, he's my best mate and I'd hate to see him go to waste"

"Malfoy!" she spat and felt the sudden irresistible urge to punch him.

It was just too easy with him. And he knew it too because he gave her a slow stare that clearly said _'and you fell for that?'_.

She reached for his mind and screamed.

_Jerk!_

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, and several people turned to stare at them, but Hermione put her best angelic face on, stirring the contents of their cauldron at a leisurely pace.

"You do not want to mess with me" she hissed at him when everybody resumed their potion-making.

She hadn't told him she was Ravenclaw's heir yet, because Blaise was right, he needn't knowing, but when he got under her skin like that she wished she could scare him into servility.

Draco Malfoy _deserved_ to treat her like royalty.

"I get it" he said, "You don't have to make a scene every time, you know"

"It's fun" Hermione replied with a wicked smile playing on her lips, "Back to the subject, I promise I won't hang around the bartender too much"

"Good thinking"

"You _will_ have to step out of the picture at some point"

"Don't worry" he glanced at her, "I will"

"Good thinking" she mocked and she heard Draco chuckle, he muttered something that sounded like _'so Slytherin...'_ and she chuckled too.

_Okay, maybe, just maybe, there's no need for him to call me Your Highness and such, _she thought briefly.

Outside the classroom, Harry and Ron were waiting for her, but Hermione told them to go ahead and not to worry.

"You always linger behind!" Ron accused.

"I'm Head Girl now, I have duties!" she said and went back into the room. Draco was gathering his stuff and Blaise was beside him, talking quietly.

"Don't have a clue what you're talking about, Pascal" he turned around and motioned at her, "Look, you can ask Granger, can't you?" and with a smirk in their direction, he left.

Blaise advanced towards her and together they walked in the hallway, there was nobody around.

"What is it?" she asked and saw his lips twitch.

In one swift movement, he had her pinned to the wall.

"Let me ask you something" his voice was a sibilant whisper, "What game are you playing at?" his arms on either side of her head had her feeling caged, but his breath on her skin had her mind swirl and her temperature rise.

_Oh no, not now... _she pleaded.

But it was already too late, her clothes were too tight, she could sense her chest heaving with each strangled gulp of air.

She looked up at Blaise and his discomfort was evident.

"And this too!" he panted, "Why does _this_ happen?"

"I..." _Think! Think fast!_ "I don't know..."

"What are you always whispering with Drake about?" he said in an undertone.

"Oh, this and that" she dissimulated, "Mostly Heads stuff" _This pretext is getting old already._

"You're lying" he snapped, "I'll ask you again, what the heck is going on?"

"I don't know what you're talking about" and even as she said it, she knew he'd get mad because that was word for word what Draco had just told him.

He hit the wall behind her with his fist.

_Oh Merlin_, she worried, _he's livid_.

"You keep following me around" he started in a low voice that threatened to turn into shouting with each syllable, "You insist on sitting with me in class, you won't shut up and I get the third degree each time" he paused because Hermione was smiling, "It's not funny!"

"There is nothing going on" she said, "So, yes, it is funny"

"Elaborate" he replied, withdrawing his arms to his chest.

"I didn't think you'd mind my company that much" she tested.

"I don't" he said softly, averting his gaze from her.

She sighed to keep from giggling; he would not like that at that precise moment.

_I like spending time with you_, she thought sheepishly and his eyes travelled back to her.

"That doesn't mean you have to be by my side all the time"

_No mind-talking again, I see..._ she thought, not without a little amusement.

"Well" she began and smiled again, "We do share lots of classes"

"Three months ago you wouldn't have noticed if I was there or not"

Hermione was a little hurt by his tone, but she hid it, "True" she said, "But now I do, doesn't that matter at all?"

"I value my privacy"

His statement echoed what Draco had already told her in October, so she couldn't blame Blaise for reminding her. Part of her had known he wouldn't be okay with her sudden interest in all the aspects of his life, and she had been careful.

Or so she thought.

She had not forced her presence on him at meals, and she had kept to herself outside of class.

Apparently, not enough.

"Hermione?"

She had been staring into space, she realized.

"Listen..." he ran his fingers through his hair, "I'm hungry"

She was at a loss.

_Hungry?_

But then she remembered. It was lunchtime, that was why the hallways were empty and why they hadn't been interrupted yet. Everyone was in the Great Hall.

And there she was, thanking her sheer nonexistent luck.

"We agreed on studying together tomorrow" he said, as if he was reminding her of a business appointment, "We can talk then" he turned to leave, but seemed to realize she hadn't given her approval, "Does that work for you?"

Hermione fixed her lips to argue back that no, it did not work for her because she'd spend the night awake, figuring out how not to tell him she had been conspiring for his attention behind his back. With his best friend. With his best friend she had kissed. A kiss they had not exactly talked about either.

"Of course" she said in the end.

She too was hungry and her mother had taught her not to discuss on an empty stomach.

**

* * *

**

Friday.

She was fidgeting in her seat, next to a very much exasperated Dean Thomas. Ten minutes and counting, and then she'd be expected to turn up in the Heads quarters where Blaise was supposedly waiting for her. Hermione glanced around the classroom for the hundredth time.

He was not there, of course, she knew he wouldn't be there. Draco had been kind enough to warn her he wouldn't.

She tapped her fingers on the desk and Dean winced.

She stopped and quickly apologised.

Her guilty gaze caught her co-Head's curious eyes, she saw him mouth her something that she just couldn't make out.

The over the top amount of caffeine in her body had started to kick in half an hour through Transfiguration and Hermione was starting to realize how bad an idea it had been to drink that much coffee at breakfast. However, she was in a comatose state, she had needed it.

She sighed. As expected, she hadn't slept much; she had been hyper and morose at the same time.

_Worst mood combo ever,_ she thought.

Eight minutes left.

Obviously, the anticipation for their rendezvous thrilled her, Ginny had said her eyes sparkled the night before. On the other hand, she was terrified. Blaise Zabini was no Sean Carson, he was no Muggle boyfriend she could go out with on a couple dates and decide she just wasn't that desperate yet.

He was... _Blaise Zabini_!

She could have laughed at how absurd that sounded, even to her.

_I did not just compare him to my previous boyfriends... did I?_

She mentally slapped herself. Only a few weeks earlier, there was nothing. But now there were these feelings; the anticipation, the thrill, the anxiety. Where had those come from?

"Hermione... please..." she heard Dean wearily whisper.

She was fidgeting again.

Five minutes left.

She stopped. Her ears focused on Professor McGonagall's voice, her hand grasped her quill and she told herself to quit the crap, even though she already knew half the stuff they were taking notes on. But at least she got through the last few minutes.

"I have class now" Draco said nonchalantly.

To everyone else, he might have been speaking about the weather, but Hermione understood what was between the lines. He would not be in their quarters, not for another hour or two.

"I'll see you at lunch then?" she asked while packing her things.

Harry and Ron were probably already back to Gryffindor Tower with the rest of her housemates. A few other students were still lingering behind, but they'd be gone soon.

"Dinner's more likely" the Head Boy lowered his voice, "I swear, if you mess this up..."

"I won't" she whispered back.

_I hope I don't_, she added to herself.

He looked satisfied and started to leave, "The fun begins at nine, remember!"

"Stupid party" she muttered making her way up the South Tower, "And stupid stairs" when she got to the top and greeted the painting, she was breathing heavily.

She took a moment to collect herself _(and her thoughts)_ and then she stepped into the common room.

* * *

End of twenty-first chapter.

**

* * *

A/N: (2009-08-14)** I'm going to leave it here because, clearly, the party entails a chapter of its own. I am going to write Hermione's POV up until Christmas break _(theirs, not RL)_, there are some things that I just can't have Blaise say and/or think. Oh yes, and the silliness of this chapter came to me while reading KareKano, if any of you is familiar with it.


	22. Faits et fiction, première partie

chp.22: Faits et fiction (première partie)

* * *

"_We agreed on studying together tomorrow... We can talk then... Does that work for you?"_

"_Of course"_

* * *

The table the Gryffindor Head Girl and the Slytherin Head Boy used for their meetings was covered in books and parchment. Blaise had his back to the entrance when she got into the common room, his right hand cupped against his neck, the top of his quill moved back and forth on his notes.

_Bad, bad idea._

Hermione cleared her voice, but he was probably already aware of her presence. He waved his hand, scribbled some more and then stopped. He turned in his seat, Draco's seat. The corners of her mouth curled into a weak smile and as he stood up, she took a few steps forward.

"I'm sorry about yesterday"

It was a relief that he spoke first and Hermione could hardly hide it.

"It's okay" she replied uncertainly, "I know you don't–"

He cut her off scathingly, "Oh, you _know_ me" he put his hands on her shoulders and smirked, "I am rather under the impression that I know you better than you know me" he bowed his head just an inch, "Your Highness"

So much for quiet, tranquil talk.

"As a matter of fact, I don't think so" she hotly retorted and extracted herself from his grip.

He let her loose and though his voice did not betray any anger, she felt that the heat of the moment was getting through his cold exterior too.

"I thought I had already told you" he said, "I observe you, I've been doing it for years" he paused and looked at her.

Hermione had paced to the other end of the common room and was clenching her fists, glaring at him without restraint. They stared at each other for a while, her fury slowly giving in to the stillness of his eyes.

And she sighed, unclenched her hands and approached the centre of the room once more.

"Years?" she queried once they had both sat down on the sofa.

He nodded, "You can learn a lot of things about someone just by watching them everyday in the most ordinary of environments" he fixed his gaze on the opposite wall, "That's how I know that you nagging me this past week had something to do with you and Drake spending so much time together"

"You're right"

She would have liked to argue, but what was the point?

"And why do I get the feeling you were not discussing my Transfiguration skills?" he chuckled softly, "My poor Transfiguration skills"

"Draco thinks I'm going to hang around the bar all night" _Well, I'm not lying per se_, she boldly thought, _he did say that_.

"Why would you?"

Blaise's eyes were suddenly on her and the strength of his gaze amplified her heartbeat. She stared open-mouthed, and then she closed her eyes and reached for him.

His mind put up a wall the moment she tried to break in.

She looked at him.

"You won't let me in" she stated, hoping not to sound too bothered.

He frowned, "Answer me" he replied, standing up.

As if putting some distance between them could hinder her attempts at infiltrating his thoughts.

"The evening after the Quidditch match..." Hermione saw him wince momentarily, but kept going, "_That_" she hoped she wouldn't need to clarify further, "Upset you, didn't it? And so, I thought, maybe" she groaned, _Merlin, this is hard_, "Maybe–"

Blaise snorted and interrupted, "Maybe I didn't enjoy being second best" he twitched his lips, "To my best friend, for that matter"

She got up as well and strode up to him, "Well, _maybe_ you should make your intentions clear _before_ somebody else does!" she wondered what was with him that made her temper rise so quickly.

"My intentions?" he countered, "What do _you_ care about my intentions?"

"I care if they concern me!" she flared up at him and kept her look fixed.

"But I was clear! I was!"

A spark of emotion flashed through his eyes and a moment later it was gone, he was back to his usual cool demeanour.

"I was too" Hermione spoke softly, averting her eyes from his, "That's all it was really" she confessed in a quiet voice, "I was trying to be straightforward"

She kept her head bowed, just in case he was going to give her another earful.

"Hermione" he tipped her chin up and his ice-blue eyes met hers.

Blaise looped his arms around her waist and held her close to him; she instinctively pushed up to the tips of her toes and closed her eyes when his lips pressed lightly against hers. The heat of their previous up-close encounters was back with a vengeance, his grip tightened and she slowly rose to grab his necktie and pull him closer. In the back of her mind, she heard herself whimper his name as she sensed his thoughts and hers clash together just a split second before it became painful to bear.

The little balance Hermione had on her tiptoes off, she staggered and both of them were pulled back to reality.

"Ouch..." she murmured, rubbing the side of her head and not daring to open her eyes.

"The strangest things keep happening around you"

Blaise's voice was low, but it hurt her ears nonetheless.

She winced and swayed into the sofa, and eventually she looked up. The dark-haired boy was still standing a few feet from her, but he too was rubbing his forehead. Hermione tried to focus her attention; she didn't feel like she had just kissed Blaise, she felt like they had banged their heads together and were still recovering from the blow. She tried to get up and as soon as she was an inch above the fabric of the sofa, everything spun so fast she was forced to sit down, again.

She scowled.

"How come you're still standing?" she whined in a soft whisper, the dull pain in her ears was slowly subsiding.

"It felt like this when I wouldn't land properly" he explained, "I got used to it" and he easily dropped onto the sofa next to her.

Her indigo eyes stared into his until they both lost their glazed expressions and only one question hung between them. Was it a one-time occurrence? Would it happen again if they...?

_Whatever this is, it doesn't mean I give up._

Hermione looked at him hesitantly.

Blaise smiled.

_Did I make my intentions clear enough?_

She nodded because she didn't trust herself to say anything.

He took her right hand and brushed his lips against its back, his gaze did not falter once.

When she blushed and he smirked, her brain kicked into action.

"We still need to talk" she stated business-like.

"Right" he said, "You go first"

"Oh" Hermione was a little taken aback as she had not anticipated being given free rein to lead the conversation, but she was back on her feet in no time, "You said you trusted Draco"

"And I do" he interposed, but she raised her index finger to quiet him.

"Yet, you suspected something between us straight away and did _not_" she emphasised, "Take my word for it when I denied" she paused and sighed, "You said you know me because you've been watching me all this time" a small smile crossed her lips, "Which, incidentally, is the creepiest thing I've ever heard" he smiled back, "And just by watching couldn't you have deduced why I was hanging around you so much lately? Isn't there a chapter in your 'Hermione Granger, witch extraordinaire' manual labelled _'Crazy Things She Might Do To Get Blaise To Notice Her'_?"

Blaise chuckled and hid his mouth behind his hand, "Lengthy chapter titles this book of yours" one look at her frown and he quickly cleared his voice, "May I have my say in this?" she nodded, "Draco enjoys... teasing me" he said after a moment's deliberation, "He knew you were beginning to grow on me and being the spoiled only child he is, he wanted the new toy for himself" Blaise looked at her, assuming she'd have some comeback for him.

"Go on" Hermione said firmly, not liking to be defined as a _toy_ in the least, but secretly basking in his disguised admission that he fancied her.

Blaise ran his fingers through his hair, "Well, I probably should have told him to back off" his eyes flickered around, "But I was really pissed when I found you and him, together, in his room" he made his right hand into a fist, but released it quickly.

"I can't believe you'd be that oblivious to my blatant attempts at... you know..." she too looked everywhere but at him.

_I'm making a fool of myself_, she thought gloomily.

She heard Blaise laugh and turned her head at once, she didn't think she had ever heard him laugh openly.

"You were rather obvious" he managed to utter, "Merlin, I thought you were trying to misguide me or something"

"Now, why would I do that?" Hermione asked somewhat stiffly.

He seemed about to burst out laughing again, but refrained _(barely)_, "I don't know, I reckoned you were too smart to come on to me that strongly, and mean it" he calmed himself and glanced at her, "Nothing farther from the truth"

Her cheeks went scarlet and she stuttered, "Yeah, well, not my idea, you know" only to regret saying it one second too late.

Blaise eyed her sternly and gestured for her to elaborate further.

_Draco's going to kill me when he finds out_, she considered.

**

* * *

**

She had been watching the snowflakes melt against the windowpane when hell had broken loose in the Heads common room. Granted, it was not the kind of fight she and Ron could get into, but it sounded like at least one of the two Slytherins was on a rampage.

Hermione sighed deeply and checked the watch on her bedside table.

Eight forty.

Someone was insistently knocking on her door.

"Come in!" she called, hoping she would be heard despite the raised voice outside her bedroom.

Draco barged in and shut the door behind himself.

"You just _had_ to tell him, didn't you!" he yelled at her, matching the tone of his fellow housemate a few moments earlier, "I've never seen him like that!"

"Weren't you the one claiming he'd thank you?"

Hermione did not even look away from the window. There was no need to, she could picture the black looks her co-Head was shooting at her well enough.

"Whatever" he said and she felt him staring at her.

At first, it peeved her, but then she realized that all was quiet. Blaise wasn't shouting vicious jibes anymore. She whirled around and strode to the door, completely disregarding Draco on her way there, opened it and glanced around the common room anxiously.

"What?" Blaise asked when their eyes met.

He was slumped into the lush armchair that the Head Girl usually occupied, a weary expression on his face.

Hermione sighed in relief, "Nothing" she smiled and approached him, "Are we going?" she extended her hand while he glared at something, well, _someone_, behind her back.

"Don't come begging for a Sobering potion in the morning" he spat and she distinctly heard Draco sneer back.

She withdrew her hand and looked at them both.

"You two make me wonder at the Headmaster's competence in choosing a Head Boy" she remarked and crossed her arms.

Blaise sighed and stood up. Draco advanced closer, but said nothing.

_Do I have to do all the work here?_

"You're both sorry, I get it" she abruptly said, "Now, can we please go and put this whole mess behind us?" she turned to look at Draco pointedly, "It's _your_ party after all"

For a moment, nobody said anything.

The two boys stared at each other and Hermione feared they might start arguing again, but they didn't. Blaise walked up to his friend and offered his right hand, which Draco quickly grabbed and he then pulled his housemate into a hug.

_Is that it?_ she wondered, _Do they always work it out with a stare and a hug?_

"Ready when you are" the Head Boy smiled at her and offered his arm.

Blaise coughed audibly, "Don't get strange ideas into your head, blondie" he said, gently sliding his arm around Hermione's waist while Draco sulked slightly and retreated his arm.

They did eventually leave the common room and descend the South Tower, not without a fair amount of bickering and controversies on exactly whose fault it was that they were bickering in the first place.

Once they got to the dungeons, not a sound betrayed the ongoing activities of the party and Draco smugly bragged about the spells he had used while Blaise urged them to quicken their pace before anybody noticed that Slytherin's very own strict bartender was not there.

"Where in Merlin's beard have you been?" Ginny shouted at Hermione once they were inside the magically enlarged common room.

The music was astonishingly loud, the stroboscopic lights flashed before everybody's eyes and people had already begun lounging on the many canapés scattered around the place.

"Sorry!" the Head Girl shouted back, "They got into a bit of a fight!"

Ginny was wearing a baffled expression, "What?" she mouthed and proceeded to grab her friend's arm and drag her aside, near the entrance where the music wasn't as loud.

"Blaise was mad at Draco for pushing me onto him" Hermione explained, spelling out each word.

Ginny dismissed the topic with a wave of her hand, then she took her wand out and, in a flick, replenished her drink.

"So you told him?" she asked loudly and when her friend nodded mischievously, she squealed in delight and demanded to know the details.

"I don't kiss and tell, you know" was the elliptical response, which only elicited another squeal and a warm embrace from the Weasley girl.

"I thought I had lost you!" Harry shouted, walking up to them from the stairs.

"We were behind on some girl talk" Ginny shouted back, then reached for the boy's hand and interlaced it with her own, "Come dance, Honey!"

Hermione shook her head, "I'd rather not, Gin" she hinted at the bar with her eyes and the redhead understood, leaving with Harry.

The Head Girl approached the middle of the room checking sideways for her co-Head, who – she reckoned – would be ready to pull her away from the counter on a moment's notice.

"Hey there!" she called out, seating herself on one of the high stools.

Blaise nodded at her, but he was busy handing drinks to a group of boisterous boys; Hermione had no idea what house they belonged to or if they even were of age. She was about to get up and investigate, when someone called her name and Raphael Santius presented himself before her.

"Long time no see" he drawled and she imagined he was going for a coy approach, while he only resulted in not being heard and had to repeat his words.

_Serves him right_, she thought harshly.

"Can I offer you a drink?" he asked and she could hardly keep from rolling her eyes.

"You never learn, do you!" she shouted back and did not acknowledge the baffled expression he wore immediately after, she pushed past him and moved towards the unknown males still waiting for their drinks.

She tapped the shoulder of the one closest to her.

The boy smirked when he turned to face her, "Well, hello there!" he bellowed and his friends were quick in sniggering and elbowing each other behind him.

"Hermione Granger, Head Girl!" she introduced herself and put her hands on her hips in the most menacing manner she could arrange with the party-like attire she was wearing.

The grins on their faces disappeared at once and, if the music hadn't been so loud, she reckoned they might have been charmed to silence.

"Is _any_ of you of age?" she asked, giving them the benefit of the doubt and sure enough, they all bobbed their heads up and down while the tallest of the group came forward.

Aside from his brown hair, she wouldn't have been able to recognize him straight away, as he was way taller and more muscular than she recalled.

"Hi Terry" she greeted, trying to inflect her voice into a polite tone without losing the you're-in-trouble attitude.

"Hermione!" he yelled and looked about to embrace her, but she withdrew quickly enough for his attempt to fail, "So you know how to live up a little too!" his friends wanly smiled at the lame joke.

"Yes!" she hoarsely answered, "I'm eighteen already, you know!"

Terry Boot rubbed the back of his head, "Such a shame you didn't throw a nice party for your birthday!"

It was dark and the lights were flashing in her eyes, but Hermione was almost positive he had flushed with colour.

_It was no big deal really_, she thought, _it was more important to celebrate last year, when I turned seventeen_.

She sighed and gave up on the tough girl pretence.

"I'm Head Girl, Terry" she screamed, "I have bigger responsibilities" she motioned to his friends, "And them? They're your responsibility tonight! If anything happens..."

"It won't!" he shouted, somewhat relieved, "You have my word!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Yes, yes!" she waved her hands, "Out of my way now"

As the boys scattered and Terry beamed at her, glancing up and down her body, she shook her head and sat down on a stool once more.

**

* * *

**

The heap of the party was dying down; the music coming from the speakers had ceased to be so loud and had instead been switched to more euphonious tunes.

Hermione collapsed on one of the canapés, drained.

A few feet from her, on a dark green love seat, Harry and Ginny were resting their feet and whispering to each other; near the entrance of the common room, Draco was rebuffing Romilda Vane's incessant efforts to take her back to his room.

She smiled broadly when the fifth-year Gryffindor clung herself to her co-Head arm and his face turned to utmost disgust, giving her one last shove and forcing her out of the Slytherin common room.

"Water?" a voice asked and a glass materialized on the coffee table opposite her.

Picking the glass up, Hermione looked at Blaise, standing beside the canapé.

He was impeccable – contrary to the rest of the remaining party-goers – in his polo shirt and dark trousers, his hair curled to frame his face, and it certainly did not seem like he had slaved away all night. And he had. As a special Christmas-y treat, Draco had extended the availability of alcoholic drinks to half past midnight and the students had been euphoric about the news, swamping the bar with orders.

Ginny had lent Blaise a hand behind the counter, amazing everyone _(best friend and boyfriend included)_ with her bartending skills. It had been fun to watch, though Hermione herself had only indulged in a few mildly strong concoctions; the debacle of the previous party was still very much fresh in her memory.

"Thanks, Blaise" she said.

He sat next to her and smirked, "Would have never guessed she had it in her" he indicated Ginny, "And you!" he looked at her suggestively, "You're really good at dancing"

"Why does that surprise you?"

"I don't know" he shrugged, "I pictured you as more of a traditional dances girl" he eased onto the canapé, "Ballet maybe..."

Hermione put the glass down and inched closer to him, "You _pictured_ me?"

Blaise groaned, but his arm crept his way around her shoulder and he drew her into a tender kiss.

_I could get used to this, _she merrily thought.

_Me too, Your Grace._

"Hey!" Hermione chided, breaking the kiss, "That was private!"

"Lovebirds, isn't anyone going to help clean up this mess?"

At the sound of Ginny's voice, the Head Girl looked away from Blaise and disentangled herself from his embrace.

She smiled at her friend and got immediately to work, drawing her wand out and vanishing her glass into the sink behind the counter. Ginny and Harry were restoring the common room to its original size while Draco ushered the last guests out.

Terry Boot approached her with one of his friends limping under his arm, barely conscious.

"I'll see you around, Hermione" he gave her a smile.

She nodded in return while she pointed her wand at some plastic glasses lying behind the canapé. As she started to climb the piece of green furniture to inspect if random packs of snacks were hiding among the cushions, she felt Blaise's presence join her.

"If you're still jealous of Rowena" he began, "Am I allowed to punch the hell out of that Ravenclaw?"

Hermione laughed softly, "He was just sucking up so he wouldn't get into trouble" she said haughtily.

He smirked, "You tell yourself that"

She got to her feet and smacked his arm, "I don't like you questioning my intelligence" she smiled and rolled her eyes when he pretended to rub his sore arm.

The cleaning-up took about half an hour _(and several 'Scourgify's)_. By then Harry, Ginny and some other non-Slytherin students had left and Draco was yawning every other minute, clearly trying to get his co-Head and his best friend to say their goodbyes without further delay. Hermione, however, had half her mind set on having him leave first, and alone.

_Really_, she thought, _he should have just taken a girl upstairs and be done with it! _

She surprised herself, making such indecent suggestions about her... well, _friend_. He was Blaise's friend, so he had to be her friend too.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Blaise asked.

"Homework" _More like, practicing wandless magic with Ginny_.

He sighed, "I wasn't going to tell you this, but things just got more complicated" he stared at her, "My father wrote to me, he's going to come here tomorrow"

"What for?" she inquired with a puzzled look.

Draco yawned again behind them and mumbled incoherently about needing his beauty sleep, and about her desperately needing one too if she wanted to keep dating his friend.

_Dating... were they dating yet?_

Hermione blushed slightly.

_Gods, why can't he shut up!_

"We're trying to have a conversation here, Drake!" Blaise remarked, then turned to her, "He said we need to talk" he shrugged, "Could be anything"

"Tomorrow when?"

"Right after lunch"

She looked at him, "I'll ask Draco if we can have you over for dinner" she stepped away from him, "You'll tell me everything then"

He nodded, "Good night, Your Grace" he bowed theatrically, "Night, Drake!" he called and left for the Slytherin dorms.

The Head Boy called after him, then turned to his co-Head, "Come on" he said, "You can giggle and stare dreamily into space once you're in your own room"

Hermione scowled at him and didn't utter a single word all the way back to their quarters. She was thinking. That Friday had been a whirlwind of events, she had barely had time to collect her thoughts and ponder exactly what had happened.

They had kissed.

She struggled not to giggle because she'd hate to see the look on Draco's face, but in the safe stronghold of her inner self, she was jumping up and down. That is, until she remembered that it hadn't been a blissful cola-commercial style kiss. It had hurt. It had hurt when Blaise's mind had collided with her own, and she was at a loss as to why such a thing had happened. She hated to admit it, but she might have to go and talk with Rowena Ravenclaw to sort it out.

Hermione groaned internally.

She had been so eager to meet her, while now that she had, she never wanted to set foot in the Portrait Gallery again. Nevertheless, she had questions that couldn't be answered by anybody else, or anybody else she didn't mind speaking to at the very least. She wondered if the fact that Blaise was not only an angel-shifter, but also her appointed defender had played any part in the unpleasant experience of mind clashing.

"You are awfully quiet" Draco commented, stretching his arms behind his back while they entered their common room.

"It's been a long day" she said truthfully.

The blond Slytherin smirked, "Were you planning your first date back there?"

"What if we were?" she kept her face straight and smugly smiled at him.

But Draco wasn't falling for it; he waved his hand in the air and went into his bedroom muttering a good night to her. Hermione grabbed one of her books from the library of the quarters and sat down on the sofa, burying her face into its pages.

* * *

End of twenty-second chapter.

**

* * *

A/N: (2009-08-22)** The chapter was originally longer, but I decided to split it into two parts because this is a major plot point, it's a roller coaster from here on. On less important news, there seems to be some issues with the Internet connection back home so there may be some delay in my next update, worst case scenario I'll update chapter 23 in two weeks instead of one. _Do not worry_, I am not going to disappear off the face of the Earth for another three years!

See my livejournal updates for more info.


	23. Faits et fiction, deuxième partie

chp.23: Faits et fiction (deuxième partie)

**

* * *

**

"_My father wrote to me... He's going to come here tomorrow... He said we need to talk..."_

**

* * *

**

Hermione loved the smell of books, she relished in it and found that part of the reason she had been so open about magic from the start was the very smell of books. And Hogwarts was full of books. Nobody read them like she did, cover to cover, night after night. Books had a magic of their own, even the ones that didn't yowl when you opened the first page.

"I need you out this Sunday"

Apparently, Draco was not finished for the day.

"What?"

He was loosening his green tie and half the buttons of his shirt were already undone, "I have a date and it'd be much less awkward if you weren't here"

"Sunday night?" she inquired, taking one lazy glance at his lack of attire and then focusing her eyes back on the book.

"Yes" he carefully folded the tie, "It's just dinner" he unfastened the rest of the shirt, "She's an old family friend and –"

Hermione chuckled, "You don't need my blessing, you know" she turned to look at him, "Is she underage? Is that why you're filling me in on her family history?"

Draco looked uncomfortable for a second, "She's a fifth-year"

He bolted inside his bedroom only to come out in his pyjamas five minutes later. Hermione had nonchalantly resumed reading her book. After three months of living with the blond Slytherin, she knew his patterns.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" he asked her.

_Predictable_, she amusedly thought.

She shrugged, "Have fun"

"Have fun!" he sounded affronted, "She's fifteen!"

"I heard you the first time" she turned the page she had feigned to be reading, "I'm guessing she's a Slytherin"

"No, she's not!" he spat back, "She's a Ravenclaw!"

_Lesson number one_, she satirized, _upset him to get information_.

Draco huffed and went to his room, "Whatever" he scoffed, "Now you know, so this is settled as far as I'm concerned" and he slammed his door.

Hermione put her book down and listened cautiously, she could hear him mumbling and thrashing in his room and she couldn't help giggling. It had been enough to insinuate he'd only date Slytherins and he had completely forgotten about everything else, which suited her fine as it was very very late _(or very very early)_ and she was desperate for sleep. She went into her Head Girl bedroom, stripped of her sweaty clothes and grabbed her bathrobe; a quick shower would soothe the sore muscles in her legs. She rushed up and down the castle every day from dawn to sunset, but standing, dancing and so on at a party had worn her out completely. But at least she was sober.

Once in the sumptuous bathroom, she opened the taps and sat on the edge of the tub waiting for it to fill up. Her memory started drifting off to her Sorting, seven years prior, and she shook her head. It was wrong to do it, but old habits die hard. Whenever she had dated a boy who attended Hogwarts, she had always tried to remember the first time they could have met. She had told Sean after a while, and he had laughed.

Of course she wouldn't remember, she knew that, but it made her feel bad that she might have known someone for a long time and never actually _seen_ him or her. She could recall her first conversation with Harry and Ron vividly, she even remembered spotting a well-known blond-haired boy on the platform, before the Hogwarts Express left.

But it was useless to try and remember the first time she had met Blaise Zabini. He was too good at fading in the background and she had always been so busy...

Hermione sighed, glanced at tub and closed the taps, stepping carefully into the hot water. She had wanted to take a quick shower, mainly because of the late hour, but upon entering the bathroom, she had changed her mind. She never took the time to soak in a long bath, she was always in a hurry and she had always thought it a waste of time.

_I can sleep tomorrow morning_, she told herself.

She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift. She would have to find a way to get into the Portrait Gallery without Blaise's help and she would also have to look better into the Restricted Section of the library. She refused to believe that nobody had ever thought of writing something more about the four Founders that what could be found in Zobedja Zorcas' book.

Hermione cringed below the water.

She would have to write to her mother. She didn't want to. Her own mother had lied to her for seventeen years, feigning a lack of knowledge about the wizarding world when she herself was a witch!

_No, she wouldn't have_, Hermione reasoned, although the supposition that Annabeth Granger could be a Squib did nothing to improve her mood. She didn't understand, why had she gone into hiding? Had it been because of Voldemort or had her family had other enemies?

It had been months since their last written exchange and Hermione had been glad that her mother hadn't pushed her to reply or sent another letter. She felt bad at holding grudges against her, but a lie was a lie. No matter how sorry she felt, she had betrayed a mother-daughter trust.

But now they needed to talk, Hermione needed answers and if summoning her mother to Hogwarts was the only way to get them...

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand as realization hit her.

If what the Headmaster had said in the Portrait Gallery foyer was accurate, then Blaise's father would have been Annabeth Granger's guardian, he would have had to be by her side just like his son was supposed to watch over her, the latest Ravenclaw heir. But Hermione was positive she had never seen Alberto Zabini in her house and his face was plastered on every history book of his family she had been able to find; she would have recognized him. She had seen photos of her mother's friends, muggle still pictures of course. Hermione dismissed the ill feeling of betrayal to focus on Blaise's father. Had he suffered from the forced distance? Had her mother ever even met him?

_He'll be here tomorrow..._ she pondered.

Determination glinted in her eyes and she slowly got up and out of the bathtub. She would go to sleep and she would go to meet him in the morning, but she would have to catch him before his rendezvous with Blaise.

_He'll be duty-bound to explain everything, or at least I think so._

Hermione was grinning broadly when she finally got herself to bed.

**

* * *

**

"_I pledge my family to yours. I vow to protect your life with my own. I vow my son and the son of my son, so on till there is none of us left to protect the life of your daughter and that of the daughter of your daughter. I vow to abide by your wishes and your wishes only. I pledge to stand by your side no matter what. I promise never to overstep my boundaries. I renounce any impure thoughts, actions and words, about and to you."_

**

* * *

**

She paced in the empty hallway, writhing her hands with such vehemence she had to momentarily stop every few minutes lest she scarred them. She had rehearsed her approach in front of her talking mirror, earning a few snickers from it when she couldn't get past 'Good morning, sir, my name is Hermione Granger, I believe you might have already heard of me'.

And then she saw him.

It was impossible not to spot him while he was slowly coming into focus from the snow-covered grounds and into the majestic Entrance Hall of the castle. He dusted some flakes off his robes and Hermione inspected him closely.

Alberto Zabini was a tall, strongly built wizard in his mid-forties; he wore a dark grey set of robes, wrapped by a purple scarf and a matching chapeau. His darker complexion undeniably marked him as Blaise's father and he carried himself with the same nonchalant elegance, as if the unrefined century he seemed to have been born into hadn't quite lived up to his expectations.

Hermione swallowed and made her way towards him.

"Mister Zabini?" she tentatively asked, even if there was no doubt regarding his identity.

The wizard turned his gaze and stared at her with a puzzled look. He nodded in her general direction, while clearly surveying the area for whomever he thought was supposed to welcome him.

Hermione delivered her introductory speech with more ease in her voice than she had thought herself capable of and then she waited, waited for any sign of recognition on his face.

"Granger" he muttered, "You are the girl my son has been telling me about, aren't you?"

Blushing slightly at the thought that Blaise had spoken of her to his father, she nodded.

Alberto Zabini gave her an once-over and then he bowed to her, head low.

"Your Highness" he said, "I trust you are pleased with your guardian"

"Sir, please, stand!" she replied earnestly, "I know that you are here to see Blaise and I know that we don't have much time, but I wish to talk to you"

He raised and though he looked perplexed, agreed to confer with her nonetheless.

Hermione guided him in the adjacent hallway and when she was certain nobody was around, she spoke her mind.

"Have you met my mother?"

He sighed, "No, milady" he looked hesitant, "Our parents chose not to introduce us, those were dangerous times"

"What do you know about the vow?" she prayed he wouldn't notice the faint quiver in her voice.

The wizard did not answer immediately, but stared at her in utter silence. His brown eyes were so very different from his son's and his gaze held the confidence of someone who had found his place in the world.

"I know what my father told me" he said, "That it was made centuries ago by my forefather and Madam Ravenclaw" he paused, "I also know that it cannot be broken"

Hermione looked away, "What would happen if somebody tried to undo it?"

"Milady" his voice was resolute, "You would die"

"Would Blaise die?" she asked, forgoing all pretences.

Alberto Zabini regarded her carefully, breathed in and leaned against the wall.

"It is... a complicated matter" he settled on saying, "Perhaps Your Highness could grant me another audience and then it would be my pleasure to answer all of your questions" he regained his poise and inclined his head, "At a more convenient time and place"

He looked at her briefly, then turned on his heel towards the Great Hall.

"Mister Zabini!" Hermione called, quite ticked off that he had dared take his leave without as much as a second glance at her.

"Milady" he said, stalling, "I do not wish to continue this conversation at the moment" he started walking again, "My son is waiting for me"

"I know" she sighed, "I'll be waiting for you at the Portrait Gallery, tomorrow morning" she watched as he stopped again, "I trust you know where that is"

The wizard's shoulders rose and fell slowly, "Yes, I do"

"Then that's the more convenient time and place you were lecturing me about" she said bitterly, "Six thirty" she added, "I don't expect you to be on time though, seen as your son never is"

It was her turn to give him her back and leave.

Hermione did not like being antagonised, but maybe she had been naïve in thinking Alberto Zabini would be forthcoming and give her all the answers she craved. However, she had been able to negotiate another meeting, one with the sole purpose of getting some knowledge out of him. She should have been very proud of herself, satisfied at how unflappable she had come across and pleased with the haughtiness of her behaviour. A true Ravenclaw indeed.

Despite all that, by the time she reached Gryffindor Tower, she was still seething. And it had been a good ten-minute walk.

"What's the matter with you?" Ginny asked.

The young sixth-year had been happily giggling with an usually so serious Harry in the common room when her friend had unceremoniously dragged her outside and was still holding her by her right arm while they proceeded towards the southern part of the castle.

Hermione released her clasp, "Bad day" she muttered.

"As if" the redhead scoffed, "We practiced already this morning and you were doing so well" she trailed off, "Something happened"

"Don't want to talk about it" she spat back, but softened instantly and slowed her pace, "Not yet" she turned to look at her friend, "I'm sorry, Ginny"

"This isn't like you" was the reply, "These sudden outbursts, the mood-swings, and the not-caring-how-poor-my-grades-are"

"I shouldn't have told you about Professor Vector" Hermione said.

Ginny shook her head, "I'm glad you did, I wouldn't have noticed how in dire need of help you were otherwise"

"I'll manage"

"Don't be so stubborn about this" the red-headed Gryffindor insisted, "We are going to your quarters, aren't we?" she didn't wait for the other girl to assent, "We're going to do some homework then, actual Hogwarts-approved homework"

Hermione's steps halted and she whirled around.

"I don't –"

"Spare me" Ginny interrupted, waving her wand-hand in the air, "I'm going back to get my stuff, you go on and tidy up your room, organize your notes or something" she pointed her index finger at her, "No more practice unless your grades improve, Miss Granger!"

**

* * *

**

"_I pledge my family to yours. I expect you and your descendants to honour your vow and in turn put you and your descendants in charge of my and my descendants' safekeeping. I name you Defender of the Heir, may the title be passed on to your offspring and may they abide by it. I promise never to distance myself from you and to accept your counsel whenever you offer it. I renounce any impure thoughts, actions and words, about and to you."_

**

* * *

**

It had been a few months now, but the incontestable fact that the sun had not yet risen by six in the morning bothered her. She felt almost guilty, wandering around the castle when it was still dark outside.

_It's worth it_, she repeated for the umpteenth time.

Hermione had been smart enough to take notice of exactly how they had got to the Portrait Gallery the first time and thus had no problems recalling the way that December morning. It was quite far from the Heads quarters, which had prompted her to get up extra early.

She was lurking in the Heads kitchenette, soundlessly stirring her cup of coffee and trying not to wake Draco.

A yawn, "What in Merlin's bloody name are you doing, Granger?"

_I don't have time for this_, she peevishly thought.

"Just thought I'd get an early start" she whispered, "Go back to sleep"

"Is it Sunday still?" he yawned again and glanced at her with his sleepy eyes, "Something's not right..."

Hermione was getting nervous, "Everything's fine" she brought the cup to her lips and plastered a smile on her face, "Rest some more, I'll be quiet, I promise" _Please, Draco, leave!_

He seemed doubtful, but his drowsiness had the better of him and he lazily waved at her goodbye, retreating in his bedroom.

Once his door clicked shut, she let out a breath she hadn't known she had been holding. Draco was Blaise's friend and he couldn't be trusted with the information that she was secretly meeting his friend's father. The night before had showed how bad he was at keeping the proverbial skeletons in the closet, well, _in _the closet.

She tiptoed to the entrance portrait and exited the common room with the minimum noise required, a creak of the frame and she was down the spiralling staircase.

Hadn't the evening started well enough? She had to admit it had, even if once she had asked Draco if Blaise could come over for dinner he had regrettably reminded her of his date. She had blushed crimson; she had altogether forgotten about that.

"Why don't you go hang out in the dungeons?" the blond boy had said, "It's where we both come from, you know"

"I haven't forgotten you're both Slytherins, if that's what you're implying" she had answered, but by the way his left eyebrow had shot upward, that had been exactly what he had been implying.

"We could have dinner together, the four of us" he had suggested after a while, when she had already given in to a solitary dinner in her bedroom.

Hermione smiled at the memory of what had gone through her head at Draco's proposal. Two girls and two boys sitting at the Heads dining table, everyone extremely uncomfortable, the only discernable sound that of forks clattering. But it hadn't been that bad, though she had made a fool of herself once she had been introduced to the girl.

When the blonde had entered the Heads common room, she had distractedly smiled at Hermione and extended her hand in greeting.

"Oh, Greengrass" the Head Girl had said in response, shaking her hand, "I know your sister Daphne" she had turned to Draco and smirked, "You lied to me yesterday, you told me she was a Ravenclaw student"

"I am" Astoria had interjected with a shade of irritation in her voice and while Draco had glared at Hermione, the Gryffindor girl had had the decency of colouring with embarrassment.

But after that, things had started to go smoothly. Astoria Greengrass was an intelligent girl and she had kept the conversation going; she hadn't given Hermione the cold shoulder, but she hadn't seem to be particularly fond of Blaise. The Slytherin boy, on the other hand, had tried to win her over by spilling the beans on his best friend, thus eliciting several shin kicks on Draco's part.

"So, what do your parents do?" Hermione had asked between the second course and dessert.

"Mum's very much into gardening" Astoria had replied easily, "She's been writing a book for the past two years and she's been in touch with some publishers lately"

"Sounds interesting!" she had said with a smile, "I can't say I'm that good with plants, they never seem to flourish under my care"

The young Ravenclaw had nodded thoughtfully, "Yes, I recall Draco telling me about the never ending file of dead potted geraniums on your window-sill"

Obviously, Draco had no problem whatsoever blabbing about her to his girlfriends.

_At least he didn't tell her about my 'E' in Defence... did he?_

Hermione sighed and looked around, the Gallery was close by, as far as she could remember. Had they gone left or right at that point? It had been a moment's distraction, when Blaise had inadvertently brushed against her shoulder in passing. He had been so pissed off with her that morning that she had relished in the brief contact.

_Must have been to the left_, she resolved and proceeded accordingly.

As soon as she caught sight of the spacious circular hall, she slowed down her pace and checked the time. She was five minutes early. It was bewildering to look at the hall she was in after passing so many corridors where moss grew all over the place.

The carved wood door was exactly as she remembered it. She clutched the golden key in her pocket. The Headmaster had given Blaise and her one each, but she had tucked it into her closet and hoped never to use it.

Hermione thought longingly of her home in Winchester, of the mildly warm summer afternoons she had spent in the city library as a little girl. She had always known she was special, she just hadn't figured out what was different. All those years, all the questions about herself that she had asked her mother... why had she kept lying? She would have known that by her eleventh birthday it would be useless to try and stretch the truth more. Would Hermione's life had been different, had she known about the wizarding world from a start?

"Good morning, milady"

She grimaced at the addressing.

"Good morning, Mister Zabini" she turned to face him, "Shall we go?"

He bowed, drawing out his right arm, "As you wish"

While she understood his respectful and courteous behaviour, it still irked her to no end to see a grown man bow before her. It was one of the many reasons she wanted the vow dispelled.

The sky-high antechamber felt almost claustrophobic, but Alberto Zabini was all business-like and she had no time to dwell on her discomfort. He discarded his hat and scarf, and then started unbuttoning his cloak.

"Is there no other way to get inside than flying?" she queried.

"No, milady" he answered, slowly taking off his shirt, "I'm afraid it would have been easier if my son had been aware of this meeting"

_Ouch, that hurt,_ she thought.

"We don't have to do _everything_ together" she said.

He stared at her for a moment.

"I suppose" he approached her, bare-chested and wings already spread out, "I understand you don't enjoy flying?"

"Indeed" she swallowed, "Let's make this quick"

Alberto Zabini nodded and clasped her wrist with one arm, ascending to the Gallery's entrance with careful, steady flaps. It was a different experience than the one she had shared with Blaise; her winter cloak had ruffled in all the wrong places, caught in the wizard's arm were some strands of her hair and it stung a bit. Overall, he wasn't being as careful with her as his son had been. But then again, she wasn't _his_ mistress, was she?

"Why did you come to Hogwarts?" she asked on the landing before the stained-glass door.

"I had to talk to Blaise"

The wizard retracted his wings and slipped his clothes back on.

"What about?"

He avoided her gaze and focused on the buttons of his cloak.

"That is between me and my son, milady"

Hermione pursed her lips, and stood silent. It was pointless to argue with the man; if he didn't want to tell her, he wouldn't. She pushed the small door open and they entered the Gallery.

**

* * *

**

"_We hereby interweave the fates of our families. Should one of your descendants fail to produce a male heir or should one of mine fail to produce a female heir, this vow would be to all intents and purposes broken. Should one of your descendants fail to keep one of mine out of harm's way, this vow would be to all intents and purposes broken."_

**

* * *

**

"Did you hear something, Godric?"

"Why, Salazar, I didn't hear a thing" a chuckle, "Maybe all that hissing has finally gotten to your head, my friend!"

As they neared the painting, Hermione saw the two founders glare at each other.

"He's right" Rowena said, locking eyes with her, "The girl is here"

"Good morning everyone" she greeted.

Rowena Ravenclaw stood silent while the other Founders responded, her eyes stealing glances at Alberto Zabini. She motioned for the two of them to follow her in her library painting.

"Foolish girl! Why did you bring him here?" the Founder asked in an angry whisper barely audible.

Hermione had expected her to disapprove, but she blushed nonetheless.

"Allow me to apologize for both of us, Madam Ravenclaw"

"At last, someone with manners!" she replied with a smile, "Judging by your appearance, you must be the boy's father" she paused for effect, "I am right, am I not?"

"Alberto Zabini, milady, at your service. I was here last almost thirty years ago, it is most understandable for you to have forgotten about me" he bowed, much like he had just done with Hermione a few minutes prior.

The Head Girl felt somewhat affronted that he'd reserve her ancestor the same treatment. She put the feeling aside; she had come to the Gallery for a reason and she was not going to let Rowena's lack of affection for her and lavishness of the same for the Zabini family get in the way.

"I'm here to learn more about the vow" she blurted out.

The Founder stared at her with contempt.

"I have already told you everything there is to know"

Hermione was losing her patience, "No, you haven't!" she spat, "You only told us what it does, that it cannot be undone" she clenched her fists, "Well, I'm not okay with that" she tried to keep her voice in check, "I want to know the whole thing, I need to understand if there's a way... around it" she added in a low whisper.

Rowena narrowed her eyes, "There isn't"

"But –"

"What is it with you!" she interrupted, "It is how it is, can't you just go along with it?" she had got up from her library chair, "The vow is not to be broken! It was _meant_ to be that way! Is it your Muggle heritage that prevents you from understanding? It is _unbreakable_, girl!"

"Madam Ravenclaw"

Alberto Zabini hadn't yelled, but the tone of his voice was just as scary. Rowena looked at him and stopped pacing in her portrait.

"If I may" he started, "Miss Granger might benefit from hearing my own story"

The Founder stared at him for a long minute, "Very well" she said in the end, sitting down and rubbing her temples.

The wizard waited for Hermione's gaze to turn to him, he then conjured two armchairs for them to sit into and fiddled with his wand, unknowingly testing the girl's patience once more.

"I was born into a pureblooded household" he began, "My parents wasted no time in explaining to me what my role in society would have to be. I was trained in sparring and duelling, as well as in the strictest etiquette" he pocketed his wand, "My father taught me everything I know about angel-shifters, as a matter of fact, he is still teaching me from time to time" he looked at her, "I passed all my knowledge on to Blaise whenever I could, everything minus his legacy with your family, Miss Granger"

"Why?" she asked and was startled to hear him sigh.

"It was explained to me that upon coming of age, I would be introduced to the heir I was expected to defend and honour for the rest of my life" he averted his gaze, "As I have already mentioned to you, that encounter never happened and to this day I have not met your mother"

"You haven't?"

Rowena had been the one to speak and both the man and the young Gryffindor turned to stare at her.

"I mean..." she stammered, "I didn't think it'd be possible, the vow..."

"Believe me, Madam Ravenclaw" the wizard interrupted with a distressed look in his eyes, "It was not painless" he paused and seemed to mull over something, "I'm guessing on both sides"

Hermione looked back and forth from him to her, "Would somebody please care to explain?"

"I highly doubt you'd understand, girl" Rowena sneered at her.

It was such a Slytherin trait that seeing it on the Ravenclaw Founder unsettled the Head Girl to a level she herself didn't wholly comprehend. She rose from the armchair and walked around it, thoughtful and desperately trying to tune out Rowena and Alberto's conspiratorial whispers.

It was then that something, or rather someone, appeared in the painting.

"Perchance we should show her"

It had been Helga Hufflepuff who had spoken.

Just a few moments before, Hermione had seen her in the main painting; she had been stroking her pet badger, just like the first time she had seen her, and she had been sweetly smiling at the tamed beast. Now, however, her brows were furrowed in apparent concern and her hands were adjusting the hem of her bodice.

"I fail to see how _that_ would be helpful"

Rowena had crossed her arms on her chest, a haughty look on her features. Alberto Zabini addressed the other woman and supported her idea, allowing her to guide them further down the Gallery.

Hermione chose to keep her mind off anything vow-related by observing the magnificent rooms they were passing by.

Portraits of the four Founders as youngsters hung at every wall, monumental canvases depicted their entire families and idyllic landscapes were the setting for many of the group paintings. The frames themselves were sometimes incredible works of art, ranging from wooden ones covered in a light golden coat to elaborate bronze and silver carved ones.

Proceeding through each picture, Helga Hufflepuff's lines on either side of her mouth increased and the silence she was observing scared the young Gryffindor more than Rowena's gasps of anger and horror.

They rounded a corner next to the portrait of a particularly panicky Helena Ravenclaw, with whom Hermione would have liked to talk had the circumstances been different, and they halted before a curtain hanging from the wall.

"Wouldn't want me showing you this" Helga mumbled in her thick Scottish accent, "Hermione, darling, please understand that I was adamant that they didn't go through with it" she smiled wanly, "You've met Rowena, she can be quite stubborn..."

"Madam Hufflepuff" the wizard interjected, "Why is this particular painting concealed?"

_A painting?_ Hermione puzzled, tilting her head to the side and observing the curtain more closely.

It was not unreasonable to assume that an additional picture hid under the cloth, but all was peaceful in that corner of the Gallery and people in magical portraits were rarely this quiet.

"It is not any painting, Mister Zabini" the Founder replied and urged them to uncover the artwork.

Alberto Zabini needn't be told twice; in one swift motion, which instantly reminded Hermione of his son's graceful gestures, he pulled at the curtain.

A medium-sized oil was unveiled and, plainly, it was of muggle fabrication. The dried colours stuck out of the cotton canvas, though vibrant and evocative they could not compare with the wizarding prowess of moving pictures. The scene portrayed, on the other hand, left Hermione gaping in astonishment.

**

* * *

**

_Thick tongues of fire wound around their joined hands._

_The man was simpering, his gaze pleased._

_The woman held her head high, her eyes fearful._

_The Bonder sighed sorrowfully._

**

* * *

**

End of twenty-third chapter.

**A/N: (2009-09-14)** I hope I did not give too much away! Of course, you're going to tell me I haven't given you any earth-shaking revelation, but you have no idea how hard it has been to write this chapter. The next will probably be just as hard, but once all this confessions and explaining is out of the way, you'll see it was worth it. Reviews on and off this topic will be heartily appreciated. I will try very hard to have chapter twenty-four out by the first week of October, in the meantime.. hope you have enjoyed!


	24. The Unbreakable Vow

chp.24: The Unbreakable Vow

**

* * *

**

"_Perchance we should show her"_

"_I fail to see how that would be helpful"_

**

* * *

**

The muggle-painted portrait pictured the split second when the vow had been sealed.

Rowena Ravenclaw stood on the left, scarily frozen on the canvas, her right hand outstretched and joined with that of Stefano Zabini, similarly positioned, opposite her. They were looking at each other as sleek fire-like threads locked their fate.

Hermione was transfixed with the rare opportunity to observe her ancestor without having her looking back at her. Rowena's indigo-blue eyes were hidden behind black ringlets of hair, her customary defiant look was nowhere on her features. On the contrary, she looked positively sick. Hadn't the figure been so still, Hermione could have sworn Rowena had been shaking like a leaf when the painting had been made.

Alberto Zabini was still clutching the curtain in his hands, but she noticed he had stepped closer to the frame and was regarding his forefather's painted figure with a slight glower on his face.

Stefano's appearance was average; he did not stand out with his long curly brown hair, despite the skilfully groomed cut. He wasn't even very tall and Hermione was beginning to doubt he was related to Blaise in any way, when she noticed how he was keeping his cool notwithstanding the pivotal moment he was in. The slight curl of his mouth, the way he held his arm out, as if nothing could touch him.

She had seen all those peculiarities on Blaise too.

On the Stefano in the painting though, they made her skin crawl.

"He looks exactly how I imagined him" Alberto said quietly, "The stories I have heard about his arrogance were true, all of them"

Hermione stepped back from the painting. She had noticed a third figure, one that stood between Stefano and Rowena.

Helga Hufflepuff, clothed in a rich maroon robe, was pointing her wand at their joined hands. She had been the one sealing the vow. The Bonder that had agreed to the folly that kept Hermione awake at night. But the young Gryffindor could not blame her, it would have been unfair for she had already stated how sorry she felt about the whole thing. And the downcast look she and her still-pictured self shared confirmed it.

"Why isn't he pictured anywhere else?" she queried, "Why isn't his role in wizarding history acknowledged?"

Helga seemed taken aback that Hermione would not rail against her, but would rather talk about history instead.

"Rowena's husband" she said, "He didn't like Stefano in the slightest and liked him even less when he became privy of a share in his wife's life that even he was kept out of"

The Head Girl had no problem believing that, the Zabini wizard in the painting did not look trustworthy.

"Why did Rowena bond with _him_ then?"

Alberto cleared his throat audibly, but before Hermione could defend her statement, Rowena stepped into Helga's painting and pointed a finger at her.

"You are trying my patience, girl!" she spat and then whirled on the other founder, "And you! You make me sound like some silly terrified witch!" she crossed her arms, "I was the cleverest sorceress of our time!"

"We both were!" Helga screamed back, her cheeks colouring slightly.

Hermione felt suddenly out of place.

She hadn't wanted to become involved in the painted Founders' spar, she had merely asked some questions. She wondered momentarily if she had been mistaken, when she had revered the four Founders of the school back in her first years at Hogwarts.

Helga and Rowena went at each other's throats with progressively vain motives until at last, Alberto calmed them down and suggested they all returned to the main hall of the Gallery. Once they had rejoined Godric and Salazar, both witches seemed to forgo their idiotic bickering and Rowena even pushed Hermione to voice her doubts and issues.

"I'd like to hear more of what Mister Zabini knows" she said at last, thinking it best to let the Founders mull things over for a while.

"Of course" Alberto sat back in his armchair, "I believe your foremother was concerned a few moments ago, when she discovered I had never been introduced to my heir and the reason is that had never happened before" he paused to make sure Hermione was following him, "In the eight centuries that this vow has been in action, not once were our families separated; Madam Ravenclaw's concern is justified because I withstood great stress when my seventeenth year came and went without the predestined meeting"

"Oh dear..." Rowena whispered softly, looking as if she wanted to reach out of the painting and stroke the wizard's face.

"I recovered, eventually, but for a long time my wings were useless and I could not shift" he lowered his head, "All I could think about was a girl I had never known" his look brushed Hermione's, "Your mother, milady; to this day, I do not know her name"

"Annabeth" she murmured in response.

He repeated it and seemed to ease up a little, as if part of burden had lifted off his shoulders. Hermione smiled at him, but she didn't dare envision what his late teenage years had been like; Rowena, on the other hand, looked like she had a pretty good idea of the amount of strain he had undergone.

"If it's such a painful and demanding ordeal, why are you all opposing my wish to break the vow?" she asked, a little forcefully perhaps.

"Believe me, darling, if there was any way to do it without harming either you or the boy, we would have suggested it" Helga said and the other Founders nodded in agreement.

"So there is a way to do it" she said in a nutshell, "Everyone's been just too afraid to try it"

Rowena was alarmed, "Did you listen to a word _he_ said?" she gestured at Alberto, "Would you have your Defender go through that? I'd rather think you wouldn't and what you are asking is a tenfold worse trial!"

"I would never hurt Blaise" Hermione replied, "But I need to know my –" she stopped mid-sentence, "_Our_ options"

For a few moments, time seemed at a standstill.

Godric and Helga were whispering to each other in a corner of the large painting they had been portrayed in while Salazar petted the snake on his lap. Rowena, though clearly beside herself, was quietly muttering under her breath and Alberto had most characteristically regained his cool after baring his soul and was looking almost bored with them all.

"I suppose" Rowena began, clenching her jaw, "I suppose that if you were to bear a male heir, well, then that would probably invalidate the vow" she looked at Hermione, "What are you blushing for? It was part of the contract from the beginning, Stefano himself swore on a never-ending line of male successors"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "The very fact that we are here proves he was not promising you the moon" she put a hand forward when Rowena looked about to counter back, "I want a more immediate solution"

It was Alberto who broke through everyone's following cries of protests.

"You'd die" he said, "I thought I had already told you, but maybe I wasn't clear enough" he hardened his gaze, "Allow me to rectify that, Your Highness" he bowed slightly, but his eyes did not falter, "If my son were, by unfortunate circumstances, to die, you'd live... it would be hard for a while, but you'd live" he sighed, "On the other hand, if something were to happen to you, Blaise would face a life of heartache, which would eventually kill him"

There was silence.

"What about faking our deaths?" Hermione forced the sentence out of her chapped throat.

Rowena scoffed at her, "The vow would know the difference! Did you really think I'd be that inexperienced a witch when I sealed it?"

Her spirits were coming back to her, "And what about an apparent death then?" she hissed angrily, "I'd drink the Draught any given day if it saved Blaise's life!"

"Only it wouldn't, milady" Alberto intervened, "He'd still be heartbroken, the blow would be too much for anybody, let alone the Defender of the Heir" he stood from his armchair, "All these years! I would have known instantly if something had happened to your mo– Annabeth!"

Finding both Blaise's father and Rowena impossible to argue with, Hermione rounded on the other three.

"How could you!" she yelled, "How could you stand on the sidelines and do nothing while _she_" she pointed at the Ravenclaw Founder, "destroyed the lives of generations of witches and wizards!?"

"We had noticed how greedily Stefano would look at Rowena" Godric said in an oddly weak voice, "But he was one of my students, I always thought that I should commend his bravery in sealing his fate with hers and not condemn him"

Helga nodded, "He'd seldom show his true colours, he was a quiet boy most of the time and only occasionally he would reveal how much he coveted being Rowena's right arm"

Hermione looked at Salazar Slytherin and his snake, but the warlock rebuffed her efforts at cracking his taciturnity and she was left to mellow alone. She sunk deep into her armchair and massaged her temples; they would not help her, they had no solutions to give her, they would unfailingly urge her to accept her fate.

"Why aren't you involving Blaise in this?" Alberto asked her, forcing her out of her musings.

She stared at him, partly annoyed and partly tired, but she had no argument against his words. He was right, wasn't he? She had wanted to work it all out herself, but she hadn't been in the least successful. She had thought she could use Alberto and her ancestor, she had thought she wouldn't need to contact her mother after all, but she had been wrong. She needed both Blaise _and_ her mother.

**

* * *

**

A crumpled ball of paper was tossed over Hermione's shoulder for the fifth time when the clock on her bedside table struck three in the afternoon. Her attempts at finding the right words to write to her mother were getting more desperate by the minute, but she was not about to give up already.

She re-played the early hours of that Sunday in her mind; going over Alberto Zabini's words more than was reasonably healthy. Her reasoning for not including his son in her looking into the whole vow ordeal had sounded insincere and even egoistical once she had voiced it aloud. But she had thought it the right thing to do at the time; why trouble Blaise when she wasn't even sure there could be a way to break the bloody vow?

Hermione was forced to admit that teamwork would have proved to be far more successful than her strained attempt at a solo detective work. And she had done it just to avoid direct contact with her family, a family she hadn't known she belonged to until a few months back.

She shook her head, grabbed a new parchment and inked her quill.

It took her another hour to draft the letter she then sealed and sent away with Calliope, but she was satisfied with what she had written – at last. The ball was now in Annabeth's court and Hermione could only hope her mother would consent to meeting her and shedding light on the whole situation.

As Calliope spread her wings and soared the winter sky, a much lighter coloured owl swept on the Head Girl's windowsill and tooted in greeting.

"Aren't you handsome" she extended her hand, "Have you got something for me?"

The owl was carrying a message, a short note by Blaise that invited Hermione to join him on the school grounds in about half an hour.

The big, old and imposing oak tree stood down the southern border of the Hogwarts property, near a faulty fountain whose spurts of water, according to _Hogwarts: A History_, could be seen from the South Tower windows when the fountain was still working. Far from the menacing shadow of the Forbidden Forest, scattered trees swayed in a soft wind and the air all around resounded with the whispers of the breeze through the leaves.

Nothing could be heard then though, for the white smooth snow covered both ground and trees and the air was chilly and unwelcoming. Thus, the spot was deserted when Hermione's steps finally reached it. Or so it seemed to her on first looking about the place, but when her eyes drifted upwards she heard a flutter of feathers before she was presented with Blaise, landing beside her.

"What are you doing!" she screeched, "Here? In plain daylight?"

"The sky's already darkening, Your Grace" the Slytherin boy pointed out.

Hermione huffed, for lack of something to counter back at him.

Blaise chuckled and enveloped her in an embrace, but when she stiffened slightly, he released her at once and questioned her.

_What's the matter? I've been waiting all day to see you._

His voice in her head, so gentle and endearing, worsened her feelings of guilt.

_It's nothing,_ she thought, _I feared something painful would happen again._

Blaise was no fool, he saw right through her badly concealed lie, as she knew he would.

"What else?" he pressed, forcibly boring into her eyes and holding a firm but not too tight grip on her shoulders.

Hermione was quickly realising that there was no nice way to tell him, that she'd be forced to come clean about her private inquiry and that he'd be livid about it. Perhaps not even about the investigation itself, for he shared her need to know more about the vow that tied them to each other, but he wouldn't appreciate having been left in the dark while she sought advice from Rowena Ravenclaw and his own father. He'd ask her why she hadn't gone to her mother first, why she had decided to upstage him in the Zabini family hierarchy.

She only then grasped the gravity of the breach she had unintentionally brought upon their relationship. But she looked Blaise straight in the eye, held her head up high and told all.

As the tale left her mouth, Hermione watched as his look darkened and his brows furrowed. He certainly did seem to mind that she had met his father without consulting him first, but a flash of excitement went through his eyes when she mentioned the muggle painting in the Gallery. He smirked in his characteristic way at the way Rowena had treated her and looked positively preoccupied by the recounting of Alberto Zabini's youth trials. Overall, he was not pleased, but then again she had come to him, hadn't she?

Blaise sighed, "So" he said, "Now what?"

"I've written to my mother," she said, gazing at her feet that had rapidly begun to get cold.

"_Aestusia_" [1] he muttered, "Is she coming here?" he asked immediately after.

Hermione shrugged, "I don't know yet"

Her attempt at a casual reply did not go unnoticed and Blaise smiled softly, taking her hands into his own.

"I was going to ask you to come fly with me" he confessed, "But I doubt you're up to it now"

She nodded earnestly, her mind going back to her brief flight that morning.

"What did you and your father talk about yesterday?"

Blaise retreated his hands and lowered his eyes.

"I told you, didn't I?" he replied, "Nothing much"

"Yes, well, you didn't know what you know now when you lied to me at dinner" she said with a smile.

He smiled too, "True"

"And?"

The Slytherin boy stared at her and took his sweet time answering; knowing him, she supposed he was dissecting his Saturday afternoon and would present her with the results.

"It was an informative meeting" he started, "He came to brief me on what is expected of me in the course of the Christmas holidays"

"Which is?"

"I need proper training to be your Defender, Hermione" he said, suddenly serious, "You already know how assiduously my father was tutored in his youth, and that was all because it was assumed he'd have to be prepared to guard with his life your mother"

The Head Girl took his hand, "Yes"

"Well, I wasn't" Blaise replied, "Nobody had ever explained my role to me, I'm as new to this as you are and Dad says I'll need an accelerated course, at least for the basics"

Hermione thanked him, mainly because she didn't know what else to say.

They leaned against the cold bark of the oak and remained silent, each immersed in their own thoughts. The Gryffindor girl was startled to realise that their time together was drawing to an ending due to the impending holidays; she wondered if she had been rash in demanding answers from her mother when their next school-scheduled encounter was so near. And what would Christmas be like? Would Annabeth introduce her to the remaining members of her Ravenclaw family?

_Are there any left? _she pondered with a grimace.

"Penny for your thoughts" Blaise cut into her reflections.

"Kiss me" she said instead and moved away from the tree to face him.

He looked puzzled for a second, but the expression was quickly gone to be replaced by another smirk as he pulled her closer.

"What if..." he began when their noses touched in the chilly climate, but left the question hanging between them.

She shook her head; whatever he made of it seemed to decide him for he closed his eyes and leaned in. Hermione emptied her mind and put herself wholly into the kiss, willing everything else to fade into the background, driving every concern she harboured into the far corner of her mind where it couldn't interfere. For several moments, nothing happened. Blaise's hands found their way into her darkened hair and Hermione's arms interlaced behind his neck, enabling her to push to her tiptoes and level herself with him.

At some point, they both came to the conclusion that this once they wouldn't be jolted away from each other by some unknown force and broke apart of their own accord. And stared.

Blaise was the first to come to his senses.

"What does this mean?"

Hermione involuntary smiled, "I don't know"

"I was using a mind barrier, so you wouldn't get inside my head"

"My mind was empty," she said in turn, "For the most part" she added, blushing slightly.

He laughed, "Yes, me too"

"Do you think that's it? Clearing our thoughts frees us?" she asked and resented how her question sobered his cheerful mood.

"No, I don't" Blaise said, "Something's different, alright, but that was too easy" he made a face, "_Your_ _Grace_" he added.

"You hadn't called me that in a while" she pondered and touched his cheek with her hand.

"I know..." he trailed off, "For a moment I felt like I had to, I felt compelled to..."

Hermione gasped, "I don't like this" she said.

"Me neither, but it's getting late" he glanced at the castle, "We should be heading back" he attempted a wan smile, "Don't you have a Prefect meeting tonight?"

That seemed to take her mind off his case, for she huffed and, grabbing his wrist, dragged him across the grounds towards the southern gates. Blaise discarded his fake smile and sighed deeply behind her, but Hermione's thoughts were already far ahead of them both and they involved less speculation about their fate and more resolve on the following week's duty roster.

**

* * *

**

Monday came and went so quickly that Hermione woke up the next day and felt as exhausted as she had upon tucking herself in. She yawned several times while she went about the Heads quarters in the early hours of that morning; she brushed her teeth, yawned, looked sternly at her messy hair, yawned and shook her head slightly.

_I'm in dire need of some coffee._

But Draco seemed to have woken up before her_ (for once)_ and when she entered her bedroom to get dressed, she discovered a goblet of Pepperup Potion. She eyed it curiously, reminding herself of the after effects the concoction would have on her body; but she needed a boost and, though crude, the potion would undoubtedly prove effective.

Her ears were still steaming by the time she got to Professor Mackintosh's class and both her friends greeted her while unsuccessfully trying to hide their snickering.

"Oh, shut up" she said venomously, "I could always change the Prefects' schedule to disrupt your Quidditch practice"

Harry looked at her aghast, "Hermione!" he exclaimed.

She had started pulling parchment and quill out of her bag, but she halted with a fresh bottle of ink in her hand and toyed with it for a moment.

"Sorry" she said at last, "I have a lot on my mind"

"We know," said Ron with a grimace, "We barely see you"

"We miss you" Harry added, lowering his voice and stretching out of his seat to squeeze her hand.

"You guys..." Hermione whispered back, returning his gesture, "I went to bed really late last night" she explained, "And I was so sleepy this morning that I thought a nice gulp of Pepperup would do me good"

_No use spilling the beans on Draco_, she thought.

They both nodded back and Harry withdrew his hand because the class had suddenly gone very silent due to the teacher's arrival. Hermione thought that Professor Mackintosh looked too young for his own good; his short spiky hair and the eagerness of his teaching methods screamed that he was fresh out of school. She presumed, and was almost certain to be right, that he was in his late twenties and that the knowledge of the little classroom tricks students could play on the unsuspecting teacher still eluded him. How else would he have seemed so oblivious to the soft murmuring from the back of the room that, by the end of the hour, had driven Hermione to snap her quill in half?

"At least nobody was hurt," said Ginny in response to her friend's tale.

"Don't you just know how to cheer me up"

But she knew that the Gryffindor redhead was right; the extent of Hermione's control over wandless magic was still limited by her temper and there was no telling what could happen as time went on and she became more and more skilled.

"Where's Calliope?"

"My mother hasn't answered my letter yet"

There was no need to say more, but the two girls didn't allow for more than a passing moment of silence before the older inquired about the holiday plans of the younger. It was with a heavy heart that Hermione listened to Ginny's delighted recount of how Harry had promised to run off with her on a romantic getaway instead of the customary Weasley Christmas dinner. He was taking her to western Ireland; Seamus had secured them a nice bed and breakfast weekend through some family friends.

What was _she_ going to do over the break?

She longed to be back in Wessex as much as she longed to stay at Hogwarts, where – at least – she had managed to adjust to her new situation moderately well. But she had friends back home and, even if she had estranged her mother in the last few months, she missed her family.

"I hate it when you drift off into your own world like that!" Ginny exclaimed.

Hermione snapped out of her reverie, "Forgive me" she said, "It seems I was not lying to the boys when I claimed to have much to think about"

"Even so" the redhead continued, "You should focus more" she crossed her arms, "How's your schoolwork coming along, Miss Head Girl?"

"I'm past that" she replied, "My grades will be back to their optimal standards in no time"

Ginny did not look convinced, but she let the subject drop because she wanted to talk about something much more serious; the tone of her voice unsettled her friend a bit. The timing couldn't have been more off though, as Calliope chose the precise moment the sixth-year girl opened her mouth to speak to come hooting through the Head Girl's bedroom wide open window. The owl was unmistakably carrying a petite white muggle envelope that postmen all around the world delivered on many doorsteps each day, along with a folded much rather wizard-looking piece of parchment.

Hermione ushered Ginny out in a flash, swearing she'd tell her everything once they'd see each other again, and then she greeted her pet with much more attentiveness than she usually did, allowing Calliope to savour some highly non-dietetic delicacy. Only then did she open her post.

_

* * *

Dearest,_

_I cannot begin to tell you how happy your letter made me feel! I missed you so much, but I corresponded with Professor Dumbledore briefly and he assured me that you were doing well and I needn't worry. But you know me, sweetheart, and I worried. I am sorry to learn you don't get along with Rowena, I used to sit in the Gallery for hours when I was your age. It doesn't matter, you'll get through that as well, and you always do._

_I have arranged something for the two of us, but your Defender is welcome to tag along. Professor Dumbledore informed me the boy was almost appointed Head Boy! I'll wait to hear more about him from you._

_I am taking you to meet your other half of the family this Thursday night. A carriage will be ready outside the castle gates around five._

_Love,_

_Mum._

* * *

A small smile crept on her lips and she stared mesmerized at what her mother had written to her. Hermione felt her eyes burn slightly with suppressed tears, but she swallowed and shook her head, turning her attention to the second piece of post she had received.

_

* * *

To the Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_From the Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Where the hell have you been all bloody morning?! I need to talk you, top priority business. Dinner, our quarters?_

_D.M._

* * *

Huffing at Draco's wasting their official correspondence to tell her off, Hermione scribbled a hasty _Yes, jerk, seven thirty_ on the back of the parchment and sent Calliope off with her reply. Watching her go, she sighed. She had been a little insensitive to Draco's own act of kindness to her that morning; she hadn't thanked him for the potion, but then again, he hadn't been there. Had he? It had been another frantic day and Hermione had a hard time recalling if she had glimpsed his blond head anywhere in the corridors. She would cook him something good, that was bound to make up for the slip.

Her eyes fell upon her mother's letter.

In two days she was going to meet her Ravenclaw family, or what was left of it at least. She was petrified at the thought. What would they think of her? So far, she had been nothing short of rebellious towards her heritage. Her willingness to dissolve the bond between her family and Blaise's would surely alienate her relatives.

Hermione placed the letter on her desk, next to the several sheets of paper that now contained what Rowena Ravenclaw had managed to tell her about their family history. She apparently knew very well what she was talking about when she had mentioned the Zabinis heir incapability to ill-treat her heirs.

Helena, Rowena's firstborn daughter, and her Defender had died a most gruesome death. The young and forward Edoardo had not heeded his father's cautionary words about not getting involved with whom he was supposed to keep from harm and had pursued Helena while they were both attending the newly founded Hogwarts. She had been mildly friendly with him at first, but rejected him once his intentions became too persistent. Stefano Zabini had his son relocated in their Italian residence and took upon himself the safeguarding of both Madam Ravenclaw and her daughter.

But the story did not end there because once Rowena could not find Helena once more; she sought Edoardo and begged him to bring the heir back home. Furious with Helena when she wouldn't oblige him, the young man stabbed her. The magic of the vow, a vow that had been taken to ensure the safety of Rowena's descendants, shook with the violence that Edoardo had perpetrated against the pledge and had him overcome with inconsolable grief; heartbroken, he killed himself. Unsuspectingly to all the students, the two still grieved on the Hogwarts grounds, under the name of the Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron.

The tale had come mostly out of Helga and Godric's mouths, while Rowena had stared at her hands throughout the telling. Hermione had listened patiently, taking notes when she had felt it necessary, and now that she could read them again, she was struck by the same sickening feeling. That vow had caused nothing but trouble from the start. Why hadn't Rowena done something? What had Stefano Zabini said to keep her from it? Her ancestor had refused to answer those questions; she had harshly chastised Hermione for vilifying her Defender's family.

_Blaise is different_, she had thought then and still did, _We'll show them._

**

* * *

**

End of twenty-fourth chapter.

**

* * *

A/N: (2009-10-13)** I swear, I didn't mean to keep you waiting for so long! But that's RL at its best, getting in the way. I write a little bit every night, but after a whole day running around all I want to do is crash on my bed and sleep. Anyways, so we now have a meeting to look forward to and then the holiday season, you will get a Zabini Christmas (something I personally look forward to writing) and by the New Year we'll reach a resolution of some sorts. That is the grand scheme of things.

On a side note, I am offline on weekdays – from here to January. Aside from reading reviews a few days later, that means I'll only be able to update on weekends. Fingers crossed that it won't take me another _month_ to publish chapter 25!

[1] _**Aestusia Charm**_ – http : / / harrypotterfanon[dot]wikia[dot]com / wiki / Aestusia


	25. Cursed

chp.25: Cursed

**

* * *

**

"_You hadn't called me [Your Grace] in a while"_

"_I know... For a moment I felt like I had to, I felt compelled to..."_

**

* * *

**

If she had been told, a few years earlier, that she'd turn eighteen and discover that she was by no means Muggleborn, but heir to the Ravenclaw household... well, Hermione was almost certain she wouldn't have believed it straight away. Her only, constant, reassurance that it was not, in fact, all a fanciful dream was Blaise; they were into it together.

The carriage jolted to one side, and she yelped in surprise.

"Are we there yet?" she questioned her mother, much in the same way she would so annoyingly do when she was five or six years old.

Annabeth Granger's lips curved upwards.

"Almost," she said softly.

Another jolt and they both widened their eyes, clutching onto whatever was nearby. Her mother's tight bun had loosened and strands of black hair swayed on her face, heightening the paleness of the skin. Hermione had always marvelled at that extremely straight hair, envying the many hairstyles she could pin it to while she, the only witch in the family (or so she had thought), had to resolve to magic when she wanted to subdue her unruly curls.

"What is the boy's name, sweetheart?"

"Blaise"

Annabeth pushed her silver-rimmed glasses back from where they had fallen at the tip of her nose and whispered the name, experiencing – in her daughter's opinion – the same exotic taste Hermione had once felt at pronouncing such a foreign name. But maybe it was all due to the connection that the two families shared, because the look of longing and sadness that flashed through Annabeth eyes could unmistakably be associated with the discovery of her name by Alberto Zabini.

"What house?" the woman demanded, shaking the unfamiliar feeling off.

"Slytherin"

Hermione watched her, trying to decipher her reaction.

"Of course," Annabeth said, "I should have known"

At the puzzled look on her daughter's face, she explained.

"A guard, no matter what century we live in, should be able to lie, deceive and fade into the background as only Slytherins can do"

"I bet a Ravenclaw would have been just as good..."

Annabeth smiled, "I'm glad to hear you defend your house with such vehemence"

"I'm still a Gryffindor, Mum," Hermione replied stiffly and the conversation subsided.

**

* * *

**

Annabeth was guiding them down the main street, greeting a few passers-by with a wave of her hand, to which each and every single one of them replied by curtsying momentarily or by tipping their hats.

They had arrived just outside of the small village and a signpost stated proudly that they were now within the territory of Glenonlough; whether the settlement was lively in daytime, it looked mostly creepy in the twilight of the evening. [1]

A cold breeze snuck under Hermione's cloak and brushed her legs; she dared not cast a Warming Charm though. Was it a _wizarding_ village? She could not tell.

"Where are we?"

Her mother sidestepped a little boy running home with two buckets of water.

"Still in Scotland," she said offhandedly, "Does the place sound familiar to you?"

Hermione regarded her surroundings as they walked, trying to dive deep into her memory and come up with a flying mention of Glenonlough, maybe a famous monument or event that had took place there.

Empty-handed, she shook her head.

"Rowena was born here," her mother informed her, "She installed her family here and the locals still think of the Ravenclaws as wealthy landlords, and nothing more"

"It has been left out of a number of history books!"

"Oh, no, sweetheart," the woman replied, "Nobody was ever told where she was from, I doubt even the Zabinis knew"

"But did the other Founders?" Hermione probed, but wasn't granted an answer because they had reached their destination.

They stood in front of a large _art nouveau_ iron wrought gate. A golden plaque on the side brick column read _Ravenclaw Haw_ in a fancy print and Hermione could swear she saw the styled crow next to the writing ruffle its wings, but she averted her eyes to focus on what stood behind the gate. A garden, the extent of which she couldn't be sure about, was in full bloom; milky lilies, crimson roses and indigo pansies flourished at every corner.

_Don't the Muggles notice?_

She stared at her mother, who was pushing the iron gate open. Annabeth smiled down at her and gestured for her to cross the threshold into the magically thriving garden. An elderly-looking woman was waiting for them a few steps from the door of the imposing manor house that stood at the end of a narrow pathway; it didn't look more than a couple centuries old, but the bookworm in her told Hermione that if Rowena Ravenclaw had founded it, what she was seeing was a mere improvement or enlargement of the initial building.

Annabeth and the woman hugged in silence for a long time, and when they separated, they both had tears in their eyes. Hermione recalled her conversation with her mother upon leaving the Hogwarts' grounds.

"Does anybody still live there?"

"Yes," Annabeth had said simply, but with a deep sadness in her voice.

"Sweetheart," her mother called, "Allow me to introduce you to your great-aunt, the Lady Seònaid"

"Janet," the woman interrupted, "I don't expect you to call me by my Scottish name," she said, extending a hand towards her niece.

Hermione took it smilingly, "Nice to meet you"

The Lady Seònaid brought them inside the manor house and had a pretty house elf serve them tea in a small, creamy-wallpapered parlour. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if her mother – had Voldemort never risen – would have been brought her to live in Glenonlough.

"So," Janet began, "You have already met your Defender, I've been told"

"I have," she replied, toying with the silver spoon in her hand.

The Lady Seònaid turned to her mother, "Have you, Annabeth?"

"No, milady," she paused, "I didn't think it was necessary"

"Well, of course not," Janet laughed, "But you would have been able to tell more than your self-conscious daughter"

The elder woman's eyes glinted as she sipped her tea and Hermione blushed, if only slightly.

Out of the blue, another woman Apparated in the room.

"Ye set off the wards, ye did!" she chided, "Ye said ye wouldn't get here afore _gloamin_!" [2]

"Now, Rachel," the Lady Seònaid interposed, "I was strolling outside and I saw them right away, so no harm done"

As the woman with the striking Scot diction spoke, Hermione eyed her. Rachel was richly dressed in brocade, but, probably in her hurry to admonish them, she seemed to have forgotten to wear a cloak against the cold conditions and sported a large tartan scarf instead; pinned to her bosom with a brooch, it showed off its dark blue, silver and bronze hues. Her black hair was coiffed in a long braid that swayed while she waved her hands in the air, pointing her index finger at Annabeth with a 'I'm-the-boss-here' look on her face.

"... Could have Stunned ye!"

"I said I'm sorry, Rachel!"

The woman clutched to her tartan, supposedly trying to calm down, and Hermione noticed that she looked around the same age as her mother.

"_Guid_," the Lady Seònaid was saying, lapsing in her mother dialect momentarily, "I suppose there's no point in wasting any more time with chit-chat," she looked directly at Hermione, "Would you like to see our family tree, dear?"

**

* * *

**

The room was the size of a cathedral, magically enhanced year after year, century after century, to commit to memory the thousands of Ravenclaw's descendants that had been born. It was a family tree similar to the one Hermione had seen at Grimmauld Place, though certainly more extensive. The Lady Seònaid introduced the room briefly; some historical facts, a few anecdotes, and then she showed her where her own name stood on one of the lower parts of the western wall under a miniature of her own face.

_Does Blaise's tree reach as far as mine? _she pondered, _and where has his family come from? Is there a room just like this at his grandparents' house in Italy? _

She would have to make a point to ask him, as soon as she was back at Hogwarts.

"Dad is not on the tree," Hermione commented.

Her mother nodded, "It's a matriarchal tree, sweetheart," she explained, "therefore the husbands are not recorded as they were not deemed important enough by who created the tree"

Hermione frowned, fearing she already knew the answer to her following question, "And who might that be?"

"Rowena," the Lady Seònaid said.

The eyes of the four women turned to the wall where their ancestor's miniature shone in its centuries old glory.

The woman named Rachel cleared her voice, "We should go," she began, "Everybody will be waiting to meet her"

_Everybody?_

Hermione was suddenly alarmed, but the other women took no notice of her raised brows and started walking back to the entrance door. The Head Girl glanced around the huge room; it'd be impossible to memorise all the names of all the witches remembered on those walls, so she just closed her eyes and called on a simple prayer towards them all.

_Please, let me find a way out of this._

And as she thought that, she fought not to look up at Helena Ravenclaw's miniature and remind herself of what could go wrong if they didn't succeed in properly breaking the vow.

"Good gracious, lassie!" Rachel bellowed from the corridor, "Are ye coming or what?"

"Rachel..." the Lady Seònaid warned in a soft voice.

Hermione scuttered along them, trying to catch her mother's gaze and failing miserably by the time they all got to a stupendous hall that – by her imprecise calculations – must have been in the heart of the Ravenclaw Haw. A crowd of wizards and witches, both young and not-so-young anymore, animated the area and several house elves popped in and out of sight carrying drinks and appetizers.

A very young house elf was waiting for them at the eastbound entrance.

"May I announce the heir, Lady Seònaid?" he asked, bowing to his alleged mistress.

"In a moment, Conn," Janet turned to the younger of the group, "Hermione, dear, I hope you understand the magnitude of your ceremonial introduction to the rest of the family," she took her hand, "I have been told how difficult it has been for you to adjust to your new identity"

Rachel scoffed beside them.

"I understand," Hermione stated forcefully and held her chin up to show her resolve to the older woman.

"_Guid_... You may commence now, Conn," the Lady Seònaid said mannerly.

The young house elf nodded and, with a swift snap of his fingers, Hermione's cloak vanished together with that of her mother. Another snap, and a chorus of trumpets rang through the hall, calling the crowd to attention. A final snap and the heralding stopped short; Conn bowed to his mistress, who pointed her wand to her throat while the eyes of every witch and wizard in the room slowly turned to her and those around her.

"_Sonorus_," she muttered, "Thank you all for gathering here at such short notice," her voice reverberated, "I am now pleased to reacquaint you with my beloved and long lost niece, Annabeth"

"Hear, hear!" someone shouted in the distance.

Hermione's mother stepped forth and waved her right hand briefly; a gesture that looked more symbolic than an actual greeting.

The Lady Seònaid carried on, "And introduce Rowena Ravenclaw's heir, Hermione Jane"

She then pushed the girl forward and clapped her hands; the crowd joined her, but no shouts were heard, though several witches shove their neighbours aside to get a closer look at Hermione.

"Calm _doun_, ye!" Rachel barked.

But it was only when the Lady Seònaid spoke that some peace returned to the place. In a smooth, but commanding voice, she asked everyone to compose themselves and allow the heir to take part in the festivities arranged in her honour without being hassled.

Hermione struggled not to snap whenever the word _heir _was used instead of her name, as if she were a pretty little bust to display on the mantelpiece. Her mother escorted her around the hall – the Stone Hall, as it was called – and pleasantly chattered with a few guests, promptly mentioning her daughter when the inquisitive eyes became too much to bear. It went like that for half an hour; Hermione's feet were giving clear signs of fatigue, but she echoed her mother's behaviour in everything. They both smiled politely at every witch and wizard who presented themselves, they both had a kind, if trivial, word for everyone and they both avoided looking at each other.

"Annabeth!" a young man cried in recognition and enveloped Hermione's mother in a tight, familiar embrace, "I kept telling her things would work out," he said after they separated, "But you know, my opinion was never valued around here," he turned conspiratorially to Hermione, "Too much feminism in this house"

"Don't listen to David, sweetheart," Annabeth said in a playful tone, "He always was the court fool"

"Better fool than heir these days, wouldn't you agree..." he paused, "Hermione, is it not?"

"That is enough, _Daibhidh_"

The phrase came as a bucket of cold water from an even colder-looking woman, whose age range could be safely assumed to be between one and two thousand. Both her mother and the young man shivered visibly, and Hermione felt the sudden need to run and hide. It became apparent that the newly arrived witch had been looking for her because she started walking towards her with a purposeful stride in her step.

"Lady Una," Annabeth curtsied.

"You should not have brought her here without my approval," the witch said briskly.

"I-I apologize," her mother stuttered.

"You got carried away, Annabeth," she said, as if it were a daily occurrence, "and though understandable, it is shameful that a former member of this house –"

"Former, milady?"

"You left, did you not?"

"Out of necessity!" she retorted, "_Milady_," she added as an afterthought.

The lack of respect did not go unnoticed by the Lady Una, but she merely turned her back on them and urged them to follow her.

They were back inside the small parlour; Hermione, her mother, Janet and the old witch.

"You must be the girl we've heard so little about," she gestured for Hermione to move in closer, "Annabeth's halfblood, correct?"

"Yes"

"Yes, _milady_," the Lady Una countered, "I have been a witch far longer than you"

Hermione assented through clenched teeth and, for once, wasn't pleased to heed the counsel of an adult. Especially when she was being judged on account of her blood status.

The lady circled her; she observed her hair, touching it occasionally. Hermione finally understood why her mother had insisted on combing through it via magic before they had left Hogwarts. The Lady Una tsk-ed at her simple black dress, and eventually told the other women to sit while she took one of Hermione's hand in hers.

"You write a lot," the old witch stated.

A proud smile crept on her lips, "Yes, milady"

"Take better care of your hands, Hermione," she went on, "You will still need them once school's over"

Overall, she didn't sound pleased with the _heir_.

**

* * *

**

Annabeth Granger sighed deeply from her seat in the jolting carriage.

"It is time," she said in a grim voice, "for me to tell you what I should have told you a long time ago. I ask only a little patience," she looked at her daughter, "I am going to tell you everything... You will have your chance to yell at me when I am done. I will not stop you." [3]

Hermione wanted to intervene by saying that whatever she was going to say wouldn't change a thing, that she would still be her mother, but then she remembered the betrayal she had felt in the previous months and kept her mouth shut. These days, patience was not one of her virtues; nevertheless, she was desperate for the whole story.

"I grew up here, you know," Annabeth began, her eyes drifting to the slowly fading outskirts of Glenonlough, "My nurse taught me Greek and Latin, but she spoke little if no proper English, only the regional dialect," she grimaced, "The Lady Una took to tutoring me then... around my eighth birthday if I remember correctly."

"I was shunned at Hogwarts, mainly because I was not used to being on my own and also because I could not speak the language as fluently as everyone else," she gave Hermione a small smile, "I spent all my spare time with Rowena in the Gallery"

"You were one year ahead of Harry's parents," Hermione interrupted.

Annabeth frowned, "I was? I have no memory of them"

"It doesn't matter," she quickly amended.

"Your Defender's father graduated at the end of my first year," her mother continued, "I was told when I got back home that summer, by the Lady Una of course," she sighed, "I was disappointed I wouldn't meet him at Hogwarts, but as my seventeenth birthday approached, I thought that at last he'd be introduced to me"

"What happened?" Hermione asked, genuinely engrossed in the tale.

"There had been rumours," Annabeth replied, "throughout my school years, but I would be lying if I said I ever took them seriously."

"My mother..." she shook her head, "My whole family decided to shut down Ravenclaw Haw and we all scattered," she fumbled with her hands, "I was sixteen when the Lady Una took me aside while my parents were packing our essentials... She flat out told me I wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts, she stressed the morbid interest the then swiftly-rising Dark Lord had taken in the Founders and that, as the sole heir, I was to be kept safe"

"How did she know about his fascination with what had belonged to the Four Founders?" Hermione asked bewildered.

"Dumbledore, I presume," she looked outside the carriage once more, "I cried back then because I didn't know what else to do... I asked about my Defender and I remember shouting quite a lot when the Lady Una said it was too dangerous to have us meet, that his family had already withdraw to live a quiet inconspicuous life in the Mediterranean"

Hermione stood and seated herself beside Annabeth, a burning question on her lips.

"Why didn't you go after him?"

"Because one year later it was clear that we were at war, and I had my legacy to think about, so I swallowed the dull ache that had begun to haunt me and fled the wizarding world"

"But," Hermione's mind boggled, "what about your parents?"

Annabeth shifted uncomfortably in her seat and her eyes were suddenly very wet.

"Death Eaters," she said hoarsely.

**

* * *

**

"So, how did it go?"

The straightforward question induced Hermione to mull the previous evening over. She really thought it had been a complete disaster, having failed to make a good impression on the Lady Una (how _exactly_ were they related anyway?) and grieving her mother with painful memories.

But Blaise needn't know that.

"I didn't learn anything useful," she said.

He nodded and turned to the book he had been reading, _Debts, Vows and Bondings: An Insurance Handbook_. Hermione stared at him for a long minute, then took a blank piece of parchment out of her desk and inked her quill. She wrote down everything they had found out about Rowena and Stefano's Unbreakable Vow; from the time period to what Alberto had told her in the Gallery. When something finally clicked inside her brain, she smiled; revising was always beneficial.

"Blaise," she spoke, instilling what she hoped was an imperative tone in her voice.

"Yes?" he replied, lazily turning a page of the book.

Hermione straightened her back and raised her chin, "Get up," she issued.

Nothing happened, but Blaise looked at her with a wary look before slowly standing and setting down the tome. She tried a different approach and closed her eyes.

_Blaise, close the book!_

"What the hell is this about?" he asked her, but at the same time he lifted the leather cover of _Debts, Vows and Bondings: An Insurance Handbook_ and shut it.

They stared at each other in silence.

Hermione decided to push him further, "Aren't you forgetting something?" she dared in a sing-song voice.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," the Slytherin boy widened his eyes, but couldn't stop himself from uttering the servile phrase.

_It's true, then._

Hermione nodded, _You're cursed_.

_Indeed... it feels like a weak Imperius._

She didn't ask how he would know that.

"This is the last straw," she declared instead, "They are _making_ you do it! I knew that it was wrong, I said so from the start! But did anybody listen? Of course not!" she gesticulated furiously, "You've all been blinded by that... that... that _woman_!" she pulled at her hair, "What was she _thinking_! She made a deal with the devil, and these are the consequences!"

"Hermione!" Blaise called, cutting through her tirade.

He crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. At first she struggled against his embrace, but Blaise's grip was firm and eventually she let her whole body go limp and rested her forehead on his sweater.

_You smell nice._

_I brew scented fabric softeners in my spare time._

Hermione chuckled, "Thanks," she told him, looking up in his eyes.

"It's just a matter of time," he whispered, "If there is a solution, we will find it"

She wanted to argue that the 'if's were of no use in their current situation, but Blaise seemed to guess her line of thinking for he lowered his lips on hers before she could voice her objection.

"I renounce any impure thoughts," he muttered, then kissed her again, "actions and words," a third kiss, "about and to you," he finished with a smile.

Hermione's brow furrowed, "I beg your pardon?" she inquired uncomprehendingly.

"It's part of the vow, the last part to be exact," it was his turn to frown slightly, "My father told me, I thought he would have told _you_ first"

"Well, he obviously didn't," she responded, clearly affronted.

Blaise's smile did not falter, "I have the whole thing written down back in my dorm"

"What's this stuff about impure thoughts?"

A wide grin, "That's our solution"

**

* * *

**

End of twenty-fifth chapter.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: (2009-11-01)** Scottish/Gaelic/whatever-you-wanna-call-it has slowed down this chapter A LOT! But I wanted to add a degree of realism to Hermione's excursion in the Highlands, so I researched... and researched... and realised you'd probably get the hint with a few words instead of full untranslatable sentences. I apologize; waiting a long time builds expectations that I may have failed to fulfil with this update. Lame excuses aside, the next chapter will probably be the last Hermione's POV chapter (I reserve the right to change my mind at any given moment) – it's all Blaise, all the time after that! How was your Hallowe'en?

**Footnotes**

[1] Glenonlough – completely made up.

The Sorting Hat speaks of Rowena Ravenclaw as 'Fair Ravenclaw, from glen'.

A glen is, according to my dictionary, a narrow valley, a _glenn_ in Gaelic.

A lough is the English spelling of _loch_, also Gaelic.

_A haon_, shortened to 'on' by yours truly, means one.

sources

http : / / harrypotter[dot]wikia[dot]com / wiki / Sorting_Hat

http : / / www[dot]phouka[dot]com / irish / ir_intro[dot]html

[2] _gloamin_ : twilight, sort of

_guid_ : good

_doun_ : down

sources

http : / / sco[dot]wikipedia[dot]org / wiki / Wikipedia : Scots-English-Scots_dictionar

http : / / jackytappet[dot]tripod[dot]com / scots[dot]htm

[3] can anyone guess which of the books this is from? ;)


	26. Of draughts and potions

_**Warning! Somewhat lengthy Author's Notes at the end**_

**

* * *

**

chp.26: Of draughts and potions

**

* * *

**

"_It's just a matter of time... If there is a solution, we will find it"_

**

* * *

**

It wasn't going to work.

She knew it, and she strongly suspected he knew it too. More to the point, she had always been against cheating.

"Relax," Draco said in a low voice.

He had his eyes set on the teacher, but Hermione had to wonder if he was actually listening to him. She hoped he was considering his best friend's reckless plan, and voting against it.

_No_, she reasoned, _he has other things on his mind_.

The young Astoria Greengrass had been seen more and more often in the Heads common room; she would arrive after dinner, Draco would let her in, she would greet Hermione and then make herself comfortable on the sofa. And that was when Draco would clear his voice and remind his co-Head about homework or her duties or just about anything else that would imply that she had to get up and _leave_ the common room.

It was getting quite ridiculous, in Hermione's opinion, but she had to grant that the Slytherin boy was acting the perfect gentleman. Astoria would always leave just before curfew and they'd never shut themselves away in his bedroom.

"Granger," Draco called from the classroom threshold.

Class had just been dismissed and while everyone had already left for the dungeons, the Heads had lingered behind.

"Snape's going to have your _head_ if we're late," he warned.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," she scoffed and walked past him.

He caught up with her in no time.

"Where are Potter and Weasley?"

"What do you care?"

Draco smirked, "No need to get all defensive with me, Granger," he said, "I was just being polite"

"I'd have appreciated just the same if you had kept your mouth shut"

She knew it wasn't right to snap at him like that, but she wanted to vent her frustration on someone, and he was so conveniently close and irritating.

"There's still trouble in paradise, I gather," he muttered once they had sat down in the Potions classroom.

"Oh, don't make Blaise more important than he is," she lied.

Actually, it wasn't the dark-haired Slytherin she was losing her temper on; it was the stupid idea he had come up with.

_Sleeping Beauty._

Hermione had to roll her eyes, again. She had been read the fairy tale multiple times by her mother, but it hadn't been until her first year at Hogwarts that she had discovered that young witches and wizards had their own version of Sleeping Beauty (as well as many other muggle tales). She had known even Perrault had copied his version off somebody else, she just hadn't expected the wizarding community to produce one of their own. It wasn't particularly different and Hermione had disliked it as much as the original.

The hero, a stereotyped intrepid prince, wakes the equally stereotyped princess not by the power of true love's first kiss but by wetting his lips with a drop of Wiggenweld Potion and thus countering the effects of the Draught of Living Death imbibed by the princess.

_Ludicrous, really._

"Are you talking to yourself?" Draco whispered urgently.

She blushed, but shook her head and stared at the ingredients on their desk.

"Blaise will be waiting for us in the common room," he continued, "I suggest you leave the attitude here"

Hermione was about to snap back at him, again, but the sweeping gaze of Professor Snape muted her and she resigned to nod silently at her co-Head.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner," Draco said, "The Heir of Ravenclaw! Talk about shocking"

"It really wasn't any of your business," she whispered back.

She was pleased to pass the time between her response and his by slicing through her Dittany.

"Merlin, Granger, leave some for the Wiggenweld Potion!"

Hermione glared at him and shredded the ingredient with renewed zeal.

"Stop acting like the spoiled little witch you are not," he said, "Blaise told me you had thought about this too, so why are you fighting it now?"

"Because _they_ said it wouldn't work," she replied, "They explicitly said it was going to hurt..." she trailed off and looked at him, "What if it doesn't work? He'd die heartbroken, Draco, how can I allow that?"

They stared at each other in silence, while the rest of the class went on working all around them. Hermione took a step back and sat down, deep in thought.

The weekend had been a whirlwind from the moment she had returned from Glenonlough; Blaise had hatched his ridiculous plan, they had argued viciously about it and, in the end, had dragged their friends in the middle of it.

"Herms!" Harry had jovially exclaimed when she had marched inside the Gryffindor common room on Saturday.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Ron had said, "Ginny's in detention, by the way"

"I don't care," Hermione had grumbled while she had sat down next to him on the sofa.

"So you really are here for us?"

"Yes!" she had said in an exasperated tone. "Is that so hard to believe?"

They hadn't replied, but it was true. She wasn't hanging around with them anymore, she didn't run to tell them all her worries like she used to and, moreover, she wasn't involving them in what looked like a hazardous and possibly deathly adventure. Nevertheless, she had grown up, Harry and Ron had too and while they could still be friends, gone were the days when they'd set out in the middle of the night together. And Harry's Invisibility Cloak couldn't hide them anymore.

"Granger!" Draco nearly shouted, "Will you quit drifting off into your own world and get back to the damn potion?"

"What?" Hermione stared at him uncomprehendingly, "Oh, yes," she said at last, "sorry"

"Whatever," he muttered, "Now get back to work"

They kept at it diligently for the remainder of the hour and they both sighed heavily with relief when Professor Snape dismissed the class with only one essay for homework.

**

* * *

**

The table in the Heads common room resembled the desk of a general about to leave for an arduous campaign. Notes overlapped books, charts spread around random potion ingredients, and the three students responsible heaved deeply from their sitting positions.

"Just think about it," Blaise was saying, "Promise me you'll think about it"

"She's made up her mind, mate"

"I can answer for myself, Draco, thank you very much," Hermione countered, "I will, Blaise, but it's a –"

He interrupted her and pointed at the desk.

"We're thinking it through, aren't we?" he said, "I'm not asking you to blindly jump into this, am I?"

Hermione sighed and stood.

_Yes, you are,_ she thought softly, _Forgive me._

"I'll be in my room," she added aloud.

As soon as she had shut the door behind her, Blaise reopened it and crushed her in an embrace.

_I'm sorry._

She nodded, tightening her grip on him.

_It's getting stronger,_ he went on, _and I have these thoughts at times, like I should be bowing when you enter the room and stuff._

"Oh, Blaise," Hermione cried gently, tracing his jawline with her index finger.

"_This_ is the solution, I can feel it," he insisted. "Don't you?"

His eyes were sparkling.

"No," she confessed and saw his face fall, "but the holidays are upon us, I'll have time to think and research," she smiled at him. "That's what I do"

He nodded and cupped her face with his hands.

_May I kiss you, Your Grace?_

Hermione wondered what would happen if someday she decided to refuse him, but Blaise closed the distance between them with such dexterity that she resolved she'd never feel the need to deny him, and herself, that sweet guiltless pleasure. It looked like Blaise had been in for a brief peck because he sounded slightly surprised when Hermione probed his lips with her tongue to gain entrance; she smiled against his lips when he allowed her to explore his mouth and he lightly bit her bottom lip in mock retaliation, deepening the kiss.

"I should brush up on my Shakespeare," Hermione said, pulling Blaise onto her bed with her.

"What?" he asked puzzled, busy as he had been twirling his fingers with his girlfriend's.

"Shakespeare," she repeated, "Brilliant dramatist, mid-sixteenth century, The Globe Theatre..."

Blaise didn't look pleased with her patronizing tone.

"I meant, what does _he_ have to do with anything?"

"Well, maybe you missed it in my sea of notes," she replied, "but I stressed how his _Romeo and Juliet_ conjures up the perfect scenario in which your..." she paused for emphasis, "mmm... _clever_ plan... could go wrong"

"Must we argue, again?" he said, "Can't you just sum your notes up for me and get to the point where you tell me how Shakespeare's most famous love-story relates to us?"

Hermione stared at the roof of her four-poster bed and weighed her options.

"Not that I don't enjoy making up," he added easily.

She elbowed him.

Hermione wanted him to see the connection, but just telling him made her feel used; she had done all the thinking, just like she used to do with Harry and Ron and wasn't her _supposed_ boyfriend _supposed_ to be different from her friends? She sighed in defeat.

"The ending," she said.

"They both die," Blaise cut in.

She huffed, "Yes, well, of course they do," she started, "But before that, Juliet drinks this concoction that fakes her death, and isn't that exactly what you want us to do?"

"In essence"

"And doesn't the whole affair go irremediably downhill from that point thereon?"

"Ha!" Blaise raised his finger in the air, "But Romeo didn't know about the Friar's remedy, whereas we are all in the know about the Draught of Living Death," he smiled, "And its antidote"

Hermione got up from the bed and strode to her desk. He, on the other hand, shifted on her bedcovers just enough to be able to watch her.

"This could go terribly wrong," she was saying, "and you have the nerve to joke about it..."

"It's not nerve, Hermione," he replied, "I have the brightest witch of our age on my side, and she loves me no less, so I'm pretty sure nothing's bad going to purposely happen to me"

She whirled on him, "Who told you I loved you?"

"Nobody," he smirked, "I just knew"

"Well, good for you," she spat back, "because I sure wasn't aware"

Blaise's smirk faded and he sat up straight, but before he could say anything, Hermione had silenced him with her hand and turned her back to him.

"I can't say it," she whispered, barely audible. "If something were to happen, if this crazy plan of yours doesn't work... my life can't end there, Blaise, do you understand?"

She still wouldn't turn to face him, so he was left with slowly getting up and putting his arms around her from behind, nodding against her hair. She sobbed once and put her hands over his arms, squeezing him briefly.

"The Prince saves the princess in the long run," Blaise said.

Hermione nodded while a lone tear went down her cheek. His attempt at giving her hope was praiseworthy, but she couldn't even say her thanks for fear of breaking down.

"So," he said after a while, "who's Romeo in our story?"

Hermione choked a chuckle, "I guess that would be me"

"Then," he stated, "I'm drinking the Draught"

"And the Wiggenweld Potion," she reminded him, and squeezed his arm.

"And the Potion"

"Draco's not still waiting in the common room, is he?"

"Wouldn't put it past him," he answered while distancing himself from her.

Hermione sighed and gathered her bearings; she then opened the door of her bedroom to discover an empty common room. Blaise was right behind her and he walked over to the table, clearly meaning to tidy the place up after their impromptu council.

"I'm still holding out on my final decision," Hermione told him from the threshold.

He nodded absent-mindedly and she did too, slipping into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

_We don't even know what'll happen when he's drunk it, _she thought, _we don't know how the vow will work then... we don't even know how long it'll take for it to be considered broken for good and the Potion has to be taken a few hours maximum after the Draught._

Hermione had more than one reserve with the plan; it just wasn't foolproof enough to allow her to sleep well at night. Harry's plans didn't usually look foolproof either, but the trio was still alive – at least that had been Draco's reasoning. Their families were not going to help them, she knew that herself, without having had to listen to Blaise drilling it through her ears, but she wished she had a precedent of some kind that didn't involve both partners ultimately dying.

She peeked inside the common room while her teabag soaked in the hot water of her cup.

Blaise was still tidying up, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to cram a voluminous tome between two equally huge volumes on the bookshelf. Hermione pondered how unfair it was that his family had been forever linked to hers by a stupid vow, to all intents and purposes unbreakable, made by an even more stupid ancestor of his. She just wished that when they'd break it, Stefano would be rolling in his grave.

**

* * *

**

Professor McGonagall swept around the classroom, collecting the slips of papers as she went by. Hermione handed hers in, knowing fully well what it said; it stated that by ten in the morning that Friday, she'd be boarding the Hogwarts Express towards King's Cross. She was going home in two days, a home where she had been brought up the average muggle girl, where she had friends and family waiting for her that knew nothing about magic. Except for her mother. It would be the first Christmas in seven years that she was going to have someone back home with whom she could share her magical heritage; while the thought made her giddy with excitement, she also felt a pang of irritation in the recesses of her mind.

"You okay, Hermione?" Lavender asked in an undertone, "Your face looks odd"

_Gee, thanks_, Hermione thought.

"I'm fine," she replied instead, "I just can't wait for the holidays"

Lavender's eyebrows shot up and it was obvious she didn't believe her for one second.

"Sure..." she said, "Me too," she glanced around the classroom, "Seamus said something about wanting to talk about the future," she smiled, "Isn't it wonderful?"

Hermione imagined it was and told her as much, but before Lavender could dive into the very detailed trivialities of her dream wedding, Professor McGonagall had gone back to her desk and was addressing the class.

"I usually require seventh-year students to write at least three feet on Untransfiguration and how it relates to the five Principal Exceptions"

A few groans could be heard.

"However," Professor McGonagall raised her voice slightly, "it has been brought to my attention that you are now of age and that you are allowed to perform magic outside Hogwarts, as such your homework will consist of mastering the ability of making inanimate objects come to life"

Hermione beamed. She had been waiting a long time to try that particular Transfiguration out and while the professor provided examples and urged them to be original, all she could think about was her witch mother. She'd have a personal tutor at home, someone to correct her if she was saying the incantation wrong or if the wand movement was imprecise.

Hermione felt like skipping all the way down to the dungeons when class was over. She fell behind her housemates to tie her shoe, whose laces seemed to have issues with staying put; she considered attempting the Transfiguration on the shoe, just to find out what was bugging it.

"May I help you?"

She looked up to see a Hufflepuff tie dangling from a well-known face.

"Hello, Justin," she greeted him and righted herself to smile at him.

"Hello, Hermione," he said, "Is your shoe giving you trouble?"

"What?"

He looked down at her feet; following his gaze, Hermione blushed.

"Oh," she said, "Just some stubborn shoe-laces," she babbled.

Justin smiled at her and nodded graciously, eventually asking her to walk with him towards the dungeons. It was refreshing to talk with another muggleborn student, Hermione mused while they conversed on the way, but as soon as she had thought it, she had to cringe at her choice of words. She wasn't Muggleborn, was she? She was everything but.

"You've never been to the opera?"

Justin's features betrayed his bemusement.

"Never," she confirmed.

He shook his head, "A rightful shame," he said, "I can tell you would have enjoyed it"

"No doubt," she replied, "for I like the theatre very much"

"What's your favourite play?" he smiled a sly smile, "No, let me guess, is it Shakespeare's?"

Hermione snorted, "Sorry," she quickly said, "and you got it wrong, by the way"

They had reached the staircase leading into the dungeons and their ways were to part; she'd be off to Potions and Justin would join his housemates. He stared at her when they stopped, waiting for her to continue their exchange.

"Marlowe's," she told him, "His _Doctor Faustus_ fascinated me"

"Fascinated," he muttered, "as in, the past?"

Hermione walked down a few steps, the turned, "Still does," she said, "but recent..." she paused, "developments have driven me to re-consider a more long-established play," she raised her hand in salute. "I have to go"

"We'll talk about it some other time," he said politely and headed off down the corridor.

It felt surreal how they had just idly chatted about theatre, what with the more pressing matter of Blaise's life or death, and hers of course. Hermione reached the classroom without even noticing the few students she passed by on the way there; she took her seat next to Draco and turned her attention to Snape.

**

* * *

**

The Gryffindor common room was busy with last-minute packing activities. As the sun set beyond the horizon and the lights flickered on in the corridors, the students were checking and double-checking their trunks; Neville had enlisted the help of Dean and Seamus, whose luggage was already sorted, to make sure he didn't leave anything behind.

"Twenty-four hours left," Hermione said, wringing her hands.

Harry sighed heavily and squeezed Ginny's hand. Ron rolled his eyes at the couple, and at his friend's melodramatic tone.

"Are you going somewhere for Christmas?" Ginny questioned diplomatically.

"We'll probably visit my gran"

"Does she live close by your house?"

Hermione smiled, "Not really," she said, "She lives in Brighton, claims the sea air is good for her"

"You should come visit then," Lavender said, clapping her hands together.

Harry and Ron looked at the two girls, puzzled.

"She lives there, you dolts," Ginny clarified for them. "Your parents own a hotel, don't they?"

Lavender nodded enthusiastically, "It'll probably be packed around Christmas time, but we can squeeze you in no problem, Hermione"

"Thanks," she answered, "I'll run that by my folks"

She was dubious they would agree to share their time alone with their daughter with one of her school friends; to be fair, Hermione saw Lavender every day in class, while her parents only got to see her during the holidays. In addition, there was the small fact that nobody in Gryffindor, save Ginny, knew she had a witch for a mother. Lavender was most likely the last person she'd want to know, too.

"Are you staying at Hogwarts, Harry?" her fellow Gryffindor was asking.

"Yes," he said, "I plan to relax by the fire, _and_ maybe study a little," he added after seeing the stern look on Hermione's face.

"First Christmas after the War..."

Lavender's words had a strange effect on everyone within earshot; they all stared into space for a minute, seemingly in a daze. It was a young fourth-year's squeal that broke through the silence and they all turned to see what the commotion was about. Hermione, smugly showing off her Head Girl badge, strode to the entrance of the dorm and peeked inside.

"My book!"

The fourth-year who had cut into her reverie was shouting at another girl in her year; her hand was brandishing an old-looking tome as if it were a weapon. The other girl recoiled against one of the beds in plain fright and covered her face with her arms.

"What is going on here!?"

At the sound of Hermione's harsh voice, both girls jumped.

"Hitchens, is it?" she investigated, "And you are..." she racked her mind.

"Macmillan," the first girl said proudly, "Melania Macmillan"

Hermione stared at her and could see the faint resemblance between the girl and her fellow student, Ernie. She couldn't remember if the boy had ever spoken about a sister, so she didn't dare make the connection with the cheeky girl standing in front of her.

"Why were you shouting?"

Melania glared at the other girl, "_She_ stole my book," she hissed venomously.

"I didn't!" came the protest.

"No more yelling, Isla, please," Hermione said in what she hoped was a peremptory tone.

"I would never –" she turned to the other girl, "You know I wouldn't"

But Melania wasn't listening anymore, she could tell by the scorn on her face that she had judged her housemate guilty; it wouldn't matter what Isla said.

Hermione grabbed the tome from Melania's limp hand and hold it above her head when the girl tried to snatch it back. She ruled that if they were caught yelling and screaming in the dormitories again, she'd have them both serve detention with the Caretaker; she smiled inwardly when they blanched at the idea.

"Hey, does Ernie have a sister?" she asked Draco around dinnertime.

The Slytherin boy looked up from his notes, "Macmillan?"

She nodded.

"Don't think so," he said, scratching his chin, "Why?"

Hermione produced the old tome from her bag, "I confiscated this from a Miss Melania Macmillan just this afternoon," she explained and handed him the book.

"_Tokens of Troth,_" he read aloud.

"Ever heard of it?"

Draco appeared to be pondering the question, turning the tome in his hands several times.

"My father," he said uncomfortably, "would have"

"So it's a dark book?"

He smiled wanly, "Not particularly," he replied, "It wouldn't be so outlandish of a pureblood girl to own a copy of this book," he looked up at Hermione, "It's about marriages"

"Marriages?" she repeated, puzzled.

Draco flipped the book open and pointed at a seemingly random paragraph.

__In the weeks leading to the wedding, both spouses will undertake a tutorial in the unique branch of magic required for a wizarding marriage. As our readers will surely be aware, to be truly ready to enter into wedlock, any young witch and wizard will need to comprehend the subtle spells and enchantments that will be performed during the ceremony. The tutorial is there to help; spouses will learn to govern their thoughts so that they are directed towards each other for the duration..._

"Hey!" Hermione exclaimed when the page was sharply brought out of focus.

"What?" Draco asked with a smirk, "Now you're interested in marriages?"

She blushed and clumsily snatched the book from his hands.

"I'll give it back to her tomorrow," she said.

The Head Boy nodded and, heading for the kitchen, suggested they might as well have dinner since she had so rudely interrupted his studies. Hermione rolled her eyes and followed him.

**

* * *

**

Hogsmeade looked positively icy under the cold blanket of whiteness that covered nearly everything. The Hogwarts Express puffed smoke and vapour that melted the snow coating the platform; a spade in his calloused hands, Hagrid shoved away whatever snow hindered the students from boarding the train. Harry was talking to him, smiling casually; Ron, abiding to his Prefect duties, was showing the way to a group of terrified first-years.

"Hey there!"

Hermione smiled and waved at Blaise as he approached her on the platform.

"Shall we hop on?" he asked.

"Don't you want to say goodbye to your housemates?" she countered.

They both glanced towards a group of Slytherins standing next to the signpost 'Hogsmeade Station'; they looked like they were freezing.

Blaise turned back to Hermione and shrugged.

"We're not that kind of House," he said as it were a perfectly good explanation.

She wanted to say something back, something that would make him reconsider and go by that signpost to wish everybody a happy Christmas, but she didn't. Wouldn't that be trying to change his nature? She thought it would, so she just asked him if he had already arranged something with Draco for the train ride to London.

"Draco isn't going home," Blaise said matter-of-factly.

Hermione bit her lip, "That's not good," she said. "I needed to ask him something"

He looked at her strangely.

"Well, can't you ask me?"

He sounded annoyed she hadn't thought of asking him sooner, but she dismissed the notion and filled him in on what she had planned to _demand_ of Draco. He wouldn't have done it, had she simply _asked_.

"Can you get a few valerian roots?" She began. "I'm completely out and there's no way I'll be able to get to Diagon Alley before New Year's..."

"Valerian roots, eh?" Blaise said. "So you're taking the draught into serious consideration"

Hermione stared, "Sorry, what?"

"The Draught of Living Death," he answered. "Valerian roots are one of the key ingredients"

"Oh," she stuttered back, "of course"

Hermione thought he'd see right through her poorly concealed blunder, as he usually did, but Blaise had been momentarily distracted by Professor Snape reprimanding Ron for his appalling behaviour while in a position of power.

He chuckled, but made no further comment about the potion.

"I'll get those for you," he said, "Christmas will be at my father's house in London, so it won't be a problem"

"Thank you," she replied, "Owl them to me as soon as possible"

Hagrid bellowed that the train was about to depart and Hermione hurried to say her last goodbyes to Harry, and Draco too. She told him to behave, not to take advantage of his Head Boy badge while the Head Girl was away; Draco smirked in response.

Once the Hogwarts Express started moving, Hermione and Blaise walked slowly towards her compartment where Ron, Ginny, Seamus and Lavender were waiting for her. They had to walk in line because of the narrow passageway, but they managed to talk some more nonetheless. Blaise told her how nice it would be to get away from the wide empty rooms of his grandmother's mansion and Hermione promised him a detailed account of her Christmas dinner with the Grangers.

"Zabini!" somebody called from the end of the corridor.

It was Astoria Greengrass, the girl Draco was seeing. She came nearer and greeted Hermione with a smile; the Head Girl wondered if perhaps she had forgotten her name.

"I wanted to wish you a merry Christmas," she said, "but my sister kept dragging me away"

Blaise and Astoria sighed at the same time.

"You know Daphne," he said, "The old ways are the best ways"

The small talk between the three of them died quickly and, once again, Hermione and Blaise were left alone. Ron's deep voice could be made out through the compartment wall and it provided a nice background noise to Hermione's pounding heart.

They both knew their time together – at least until January – was up. They both knew they had thousands of questions for the other, for their families. They also both knew that it should wait, because they'd been speculating for over a month, trying to find some answers. Now they had a plan, a flawed plan that nobody needed to know about. In addition, two weeks apart felt like a death sentence already.

"Have fun," Blaise said at last, failing miserably at the merry tone he had meant to use.

"You too," she replied awkwardly.

They hugged for a long minute; Hermione felt like that would be the last time they'd embrace each other like that, like plain boyfriend and girlfriend, instead of partners in crime against their families.

_No impure thoughts, I pray you._

Hermione smiled.

_None._

* * *

End of twenty-sixth chapter.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: (2009-12-13) **So now there's a little piece of background info that I can share with you all. Before HBP, I had made up a potion that would do what the Draught of Living Death does – or supposedly does, but canon supplied me with a better name than what I had coined so there you go. I may still have it on some of my old notes about Holy Devil, but from memory, I can tell you it was along the lines of _Mortis Elixir_ [elixir of death] or something equally laughable. Thank you JKR!

Hermione's part of the tale is over folks, we switch to Blaise's POV now for some Christmas-y delight. I'm not saying you won't hear from our dear Gryffindor again, but... I'm on break, so she's on break too. I look forward to this holiday season because it means more writing time and that means, hopefully, speedier updates. You all wait so kindly from month to month for my updates that I feel you deserve it for Christmas (or Hanukkah, or whatever).

I have been dwelling in canon a lot lately, as you might have noticed from the sudden appearance of some less prominent characters. It might be because we're nearing the end and so my mind is opening up to the infinite possibilities of what I could write next. Inspiration strikes when inspiration strikes though, we'll see.

Thanks for bearing with me and my yapping ^_^ I'll get right on to work on chapter 27, get ready for some Zabini insight!


	27. BZ Superbia

_Chapter Twenty-Seven_

_(BZ)_

**Superbia**[1]

* * *

Blaise deliberately ignored Hermione as he trod on Platform 9 3/4 with his trunk in tow. They had already said their goodbyes, and he wasn't in the mood to be caught with her by his mother, who would pick him up.

"There you are!"

He heard her shout as soon as he had crossed the barrier. Jacqueline Zabini hugged her son briefly, before sidestepping to allow the other parents to welcome their children. Blaise scanned the small crowd, not knowing what to look for, as he had no idea what Hermione's parents looked like. He gave up easily when his mother urged him to hurry up; they needed to find a sheltered spot to Apparate home.

"London, Mum?" he asked, gripping his wand tightly.

"Do leave the trunk to me," she said. "I can see it's heavy, as usual, and it's just not safe to Apparate with such a load."

Blaise brushed the suggestion off. "London, then," he said.

With the unmistakable _crack_, he popped outside number nine, Dynevor Road. He glanced around to make sure nobody had noticed him in the quiet street; the neighbours were all tucked inside their warm houses, or on holiday. A couple of seconds later, his mother Apparated next to him.

"Reckless," she muttered. "Just like your father."

Blaise smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment, Mum."

The witch rolled her eyes and stepped in front of the brick wall on the opposite side of the street; to the Muggles, it looked as if a patch of unweeded garden stretched beyond the wall, but wizarding people could clearly see a detached house just like any other on the street. His mother pressed her right hand to the ninth brick from the top, and stepped forward into her front yard.

"No tree?" Blaise asked upon entering the house.

"Your father is a very busy man," his mother said. "And I really think we'd be pushing the magical fence by planting it."

"Nonsense," he replied. "I'll get right on to it."

He motioned to get his cloak back on, but Mémé Aude loudly complained she hadn't seen her grandson in three months and would not wait a minute longer. Blaise walked into the living room where his grandmother was sitting in one of the armchairs.

"It's good to be home," he told her, as he kissed her lightly on the cheek.

She waited for him to make himself comfortable on the sofa, and then she folded the French paper she had been reading and cleared her voice.

"So," she began, "Alberto said you 'ave found your _protégée_, what iz she like?"

Blaise pondered his answer carefully.

"Hermione is exceptionally bright."

Mémé Aude interrupted him right away. _"Née__moldue."_ [2]

"No, but she was raised like one."

She nodded and waved at him to keep going. Blaise felt that notwithstanding what he'd say next, it would be of less importance than Hermione's alleged blood status; his grandmother couldn't help it, of course, but it grieved him. Mémé Aude's whole family had been pure-blood and she _had_ married into the Lestrange family, even if their ideals hadn't been as extreme then as they had become later on.

They talked quietly for a while, until the front door opened and Alberto Zabini welcomed himself into the house. His wife fussed around him as he hung his cloak in the entrance wardrobe, filling him in on how the preparations for Christmas were coming along.

"Has Giulia arrived yet?" he asked.

Blaise's mother looked taken aback for a moment because she had been in the middle of explaining what a mess she expected the dinner to turn out like if he didn't at least help out with the decorations.

"No, not yet," she answered. "I didn't want her to arrive at night."

"It only struck seven a few minutes ago," her husband cut in.

"It's already dark at five," she countered. "You don't expect me to allow our daughter to wander around Paris –"

"You could have Apparated her here."

His wife put her hands on her hips. "You know she doesn't want me to."

Blaise had to agree with her, for once. Giulia detested Side-Along Apparition; she always took the coach to the French capital, and Flooed home the following day, after having spent the night at one of her friends'. It was a good system, in her brother's opinion, because she travelled safe while retaining a bit of independence. Nonetheless, it wasn't the first time Mr. and Mrs. Zabini argued on the matter; he couldn't wait for his daughter to become of age and earn the right to Apparate, whereas she dreaded that day for she was certain Giulia would tell her parents she despised Apparition as much as Side-Along.

Mémé Aude called them all to attention when she mentioned she could smell something burning from the kitchen.

"Oh, my spinach puffs!"

"Again?" Blaise's father sighed. "I thought you were supposed to save them for Christmas."

The witch ignored her husband as she dashed into the kitchen. Blaise watched his father smirk knowingly and turn to look at him.

"She always gets so worked up," he remarked. "I just love teasing her."

Mémé Aude laughed. "It iz always been like zat."

"It's all right!" Blaise's mother shouted. "Blaise, come help me!"

Reluctantly, he got up from the sofa and dawdled towards the other room. She was moving things around with her wand; the spinach puffs nearly crashed with the plates in mid-air.

"Set the table, will you?" she instructed, turning her attention to the stove.

Blaise obeyed and with a swift whisk of his wand, the glasses and the necessary cutlery laid neatly onto the dinner table. His mother smiled at him and walked over with the hot dishes of _steak__au__poivre_ in tow.

"_Il__tuo__addestramento__inizia__domani,__figliolo_," Blaise's father said once dinner was over. [Your training starts tomorrow, son]

"_Sì_," he replied, gulping down his glass of water.

"Is that why you cleared the old study of all the furniture?" his mother asked.

The older wizard nodded. "It would be wiser to use the garden, but it's freezing outside."

Mémé Aude grumbled in French, but Blaise could only catch the word _ailes_, wings. He smirked. His grandmother really couldn't cope with two _alati_ exercising, at the same time; he partly wished she could understand the importance of his training. He wanted to be able to protect Hermione, if the need arose. He wanted to be her Defender in more than just the namesake. More importantly, he wanted to be able to fight the vow.

Blaise knew the danger they were facing if something in his plan went awry, but wasn't it worth the risk? If they succeeded, they would be free; he wouldn't constantly have to second-guess his feelings for her, there would be no more doubts where the deep affection they felt for each other came from. Blaise couldn't help wonder why his ancestor had chosen to link his fate with Madam Ravenclaw's withholding the obvious ardour he felt for her. If he hadn't, he mused, maybe she had; she had known of his desire and formulated the vow accordingly.

He shook his head.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, Mum," he said slowly. "Sorry."

"Oh, it's not the first time we catch you daydreaming, Blaise," his mother replied. "You used to do it all the time when you were little, didn't he, Maman?"

"_Oui_," his grandmother confirmed. "Too many books, zat was the _problème_."

* * *

Blaise leafed through the worn pages of _More__Tales__of__Beedle__the__Bard_and idly recalled how he had come up with the very idea for the plan via that book, where he had read and reread numerous times the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty. It had been the obvious course of action to imitate what the Prince of the fable had done to reawaken the Princess, though Hermione had made it clear enough that she was against the idea.

"Aren't you too old to be reading that stuff?" his father asked, passing by the room.

"You never know," Blaise said. "Some of it might still come in handy."

The older wizard looked at him strangely for a moment, but the tension was over when he spoke again.

"I am going to Diagon Alley tomorrow," he said. "You are welcome to join me."

Blaise nodded. "Is Giulia coming with us?" he asked.

"I don't think so, your mother mentioned something about taking her herself on Christmas Eve."

He left the threshold and Blaise heard him descend to the ground floor, greet his mother-in-law and start the fire with a well-placed _Incendio_.

The trip into central London came at a convenient time, as Blaise still hadn't bought the valerian roots Hermione had asked for; he was surprised she hadn't owled him about it yet. He wondered if he was supposed to write first. He had a lot to tell her, after all, especially about his training with his father.

They had started that Saturday morning, around dawn. Not a mouse was stirring in the house; his father had awoken him and told him to be quiet until they were inside the study. Something that came second nature to Blaise. They had both morphed in their _alatum_ form, and then his father had at length explained what he was going to teach him. He needed to learn how to duel with his wand while in the air, cast spells on himself without the hassle of landing and taking off again. Blaise had listened and tried to absorb what his father had been telling him. Half an hour into their first training session, he had found that he had always been naïf in thinking he could do two things at the same time, for his father was now showing him how difficult it was to defy gravity while properly hexing somebody. By lunchtime, when his mother had interrupted them, Blaise had convinced himself that he'd never get it right.

On Sunday, he had been awoken even earlier, and the training had been even more demanding. His father would show him how to do it once, and then he'd have to repeat the sequence over and over again, until he could recite his father's directions by heart. Nonetheless, he couldn't cast a spell and hover above the floor more than a few inches, and the look of disappointment in his father's eyes whenever he'd brush the carpet with his feet was taking a heavy toll on Blaise's self-esteem. He practiced on his own the whole afternoon, and refused to let Giulia in when she had charged at his door after hearing the _thud_ of a particularly painful fall; he was sore and covered in bruises by dinnertime. His parents had said nothing, but his sister and Mémé Aude had berated him in between bites. Blaise hadn't responded and ate his beefsteak in utter silence.

That morning, his intensive additional training of the previous day had paid off, because he had at last been able to cast a passable _Protego_on the practice mannequin and still fly away from the hex his father had aimed at him.

"_Ben__fatto,__figliolo!_" [Well done, son!]

"_Grazie._" [Thank you.]

His father had pushed him further, but they had both gladly cut short the session at eleven o'clock. They had descended to the kitchen to have something to eat, and Blaise's mother, who had been preparing lunch, had shooed them away smilingly. All three of them had been smiling at that point.

Blaise turned another page of _More__Tales__of__Beedle__the__Bard_; the title page of Sleeping Beautystared at him. He read what Beedle had adapted from the Muggle tale and smirked; his was a really flawless plan. As the storyteller himself commented in the footnotes, the fable had stemmed from a true story, so Blaise was certain that if somebody, at some point in Beedle's time, had successfully accomplished the feat, Hermione and he would have no problem repeating it. The following day, he decided, he'd go to Flourish and Blotts to get an extra copy of the book.

He placed it back on the shelf and _Accio_ed one of his many encyclopaedias on potions. He searched the index and skipped to the page towards the mid-section of the tome; the caption read _Draught__of__Living__Death_. It was listed among the higher-level potions, and the several stages of the draught were clearly stated along with helpful moving drawings that illustrated the correct usage. In the thumbnail a sketched wizard walked up to a table, he then grabbed the vial containing the draught and made a show of drinking it; the sketch fell asleep on a drawn-in couch and a tiny clock appeared in the corner of the thumbnail, showing the passing of time.

Blaise stared at the minuscule note underneath the moving drawing.

_See Wiggenweld Potion (page 2287) to reverse the effects of the Draught._

He grabbed his wand and poked the book; several pages turned and then stopped a few sheets before the end of the encyclopaedia, where the instructions for the antidote were. He had read it more than once, and he only glanced at it. It would work, he considered, pleased with himself. He wondered for the millionth time if he should talk with someone – other than Hermione and Draco – about their scheming to break the Unbreakable Vow.

Despite having discouraged them from trying, even with claiming that it'd lead to their ultimate deaths, nobody had told the heirs of the Zabinis and the Ravenclaws how they could all be so sure there was no remedy; had Rowena tried to get out of the deal? Had she seen there was no breaking free of the vow? Had Helena Ravenclaw stole her mother's diadem in hope it would undo the powerful magical bond her mother had laid down with Stefano?

Blaise shut the book with a bang and shoved it back on its shelf. They had tried the easy, obliging way, and they had failed. Rowena was uncooperative, Hermione's mother and the rest of her family wouldn't answer her pleas, his own father had opted for training him in defending the smartest, most resourceful and well-trained witch of his age instead of aiding them in ending this madness.

With each passing day, his contempt intensified; he couldn't fathom why both their families would continue being so unrelenting when both teenagers had clearly stated they were unable to bear the situation. They wanted to be together, but not like this, not like master and servant.

* * *

Blaise surveyed the apothecary's shop with curious eyes; he had been here before, and he took advantage of the queue to check if anything new was on the shelves. The light coming in from the windows was blinding because of the snow that covered the rooftops of Diagon Alley and the contents of the hundreds of vials before his eyes glittered in the morning sun. Blaise noticed the apothecary had several stocks of Cough and Pepper-Up Potions, always popular in the winter, and the large jars containing the raw ingredients replenished themselves constantly.

He himself approached the shelf displaying some of what he needed; as with every other ostensibly deadly potion, the Draught of Living Death was insanely easy to brew, while its antidote's list of ingredients never seemed to end. Blaise had narrowed the long checklist to the only ten things he couldn't find neither in his stock nor in his family's in Richmond; he aptly reached out to retrieve the Wiggentree bark and, after having placed it in his basket, he uncorked the jar containing the Sopophorous beans and picked two of them.

"May I help you?"

One of the younger overly zealous clerks had suddenly appeared at his side, beaming at him.

Blaise resisted the urge to groan. "Yes," he said instead, "I was wondering where you kept the Mandrakes."

"In the back of the shop," the clerk said cheerfully.

"Any chance one of those is already stewed?" he asked.

He was rewarded with a positive answer, and the young woman left to go get one for him. He browsed for the other ingredients, quickly finding the salamander blood, and both the snake and Chizpurfle fangs; he ambled towards the counter to request a bottle of Dittany, but the clerk had returned from the back shop, and she was beaming at him again.

"Here you go, sir," she said.

Handing him the stewed Mandrake wrapped with some bland paper, the young woman asked if he required any further assistance. Blaise winced at the pleonastic vocabulary, but followed her at the counter nonetheless.

"I'll need Honeywater, Moondew and Dittany," he said.

The apothecary recognized his voice and forced the clerk aside.

"Zabini!" he exclaimed. "Long time no see! Tell me, when am I getting my apprentice back?"

Blaise smiled. "I'm sorry, Mister Li," he said. "Perhaps next summer."

The apothecary did not seem satisfied, but he lashed out his displeasure on the clerk whom he told to get the requested ingredients at once, if she cared about her job. The young woman blanched and hurried to fulfil Blaise's order.

"And valerian roots," he added, as the clerk rushed back and forth between the shelves.

Mister Li asked about his life at Hogwarts, to which he promptly responded he had received another E on his Potions essay. Blaise had worked part-time at the apothecary's between his fourth and fifth year, and again the following summer; he had always known he didn't want to be a businessman like his father, but meeting the apothecary had turned his life around.

His daughter, Su, was in his year at Hogwarts; they had begun talking after bumping into each other on the way to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Su had complained about her father, saying she didn't want to work in the shop because she didn't care for potion-making, and Blaise had jokingly offered to take her place.

"Will that be all?" the young clerk asked him.

He nodded. "How much is it?"

Mister Li pointed a finger at his employee. "You'd better not mess up the count like yesterday," he warned her.

Blaise considered that the wizard had hardened up in his absence; when he had last worked there, the apothecary had rarely had anything to say to his staff. He had even left him in charge of closing the shop a couple of times. Once the till dinged, he paid his due and wished a merry Christmas to Mister Li and his now terrified clerk.

"What took you so long, son?" his father inquired, once Blaise had left the shop.

"It's a busy day," he replied, "and there was a queue."

His father nodded, and they proceeded up Diagon Alley towards the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron.

"You bought loads of stuff."

"I had some requests," he said.

"Your mistress?"

Blaise coughed nervously, something that had not happened in his father's presence in a long time. He knew there would be other moments just as awkward, but he had hoped one of them wouldn't happen in the street; as he was used to dissecting passers-by, his eyes immediately scanned the crowd for possible witnesses. His father eyed him, but he didn't say anything more on the subject until they were back in the quiet street in Richmond.

They walked inside the house.

"Have you developed inappropriate feelings for the heir, Blaise?" he asked, hanging his cloak in the foyer.

He could sense a lecture coming in his father's tone. How could he tell him that yes, they had feelings for each other and that yes, all the more reason to break the absurd vow? Blaise knew their relationship would be frowned upon; he couldn't tell his family about their plan because the risk was they'd never let them out of their sight again.

He shook his head in reply.

"I do hope you're telling the truth, son," his father said.

"Blaise!"

He walked into the living room. "Giulia?"

When his sister had arrived back home, two days before, she had been too tired to ask him questions about his personal life as she always did. His training had sheltered him from the onslaught on Sunday, but he had seen the look in her eyes at dinner; she wanted details. She had probably heard something from their mother and Mémé Aude, but she knew he was the one with all the answers.

Blaise therefore entered the main room of number nine with foreboding.

"A pesky owl just came in with something for you," his sister said. "I've never seen it before, it's not Draco's, is it?"

Blaise glanced around at the bird and his lips curved in a wan smile when he recognized Calliope, Hermione's owl, perched on the windowsill. A chilly breeze was coming from the open window and he hastened to close it, granting Calliope the opportunity to swoop over to his sister. Giulia shrieked when the bird came closer and she threw her hands in the air to keep it from landing on her head.

"What is going on here?"

Blaise's mother marched into the room with her hands on her hips, and when she saw the owl flying in circles above her daughter's head, she sighed deeply and conjured a small pole for Calliope to rest on. She turned to her son for an explanation, and noticed the thing in his hands.

"Is that parchment?" she asked. "It looks so different."

Giulia perked up instantly. "It's a muggle envelope!" she screamed. "I've seen it at the post office."

Their mother rounded on her. "When exactly have you _been_ to a muggle post office?"

The young witch mumbled something incomprehensible, which did nothing to improve her situation; her slip could only mean she had been wandering around the borough, on her own.

"You probably drew attention to yourself," Blaise said, smirking.

"Young lady," their mother thundered, "have you been showing off your wand in public?"

"Isn't _his_muggle letter more important than me at the moment?"

He had to give his sister credit; she knew how to turn the tables on everyone, family members included.

Mémé Aude walked into the room with a purple scarf being knitted in mid-air in tow, demanding to know what the commotion was all about, and Giulia was faster than her mother in pointing the finger at the envelope in her brother's hands. Blaise pondered bolting to his bedroom, securing the door and refusing to discuss his post with anybody, but as his grandmother approached him and incited him to read the letter aloud, he thought better of it.

Hermione had obviously sent the peculiar envelope; he had known from the addressing on the back of it, as her precise handwriting was unmistakable. He struggled momentarily, and then tore it open.

"You should have let me do it," Giulia said.

Blaise unfolded the letter and stared at the women of his family.

"Well?" his mother intervened. "Go on, read it."

He sighed, and skimmed through the message before relating its content, or part of it at least. Hermione had written that she was glad to be home for Christmas, and that meeting her mother one week earlier had certainly avoided some awkward moments upon her arrival at the Grangers'.

"What iz she talking about?" Mémé Aude asked, perplexed.

Blaise's mother recounted what her husband had told her about the Ravenclaw family, and Blaise scowled when she divulged details of the situation that he was sure he had asked his father to keep quiet. Giulia was listening intently, stealing side-glances at her brother; it looked as if she expected him to kick her out of the room.

"Stop glaring at me, Pascal," she said. "We're all curious about your girlfriend."

"She's not his girlfriend, Giulia," their mother chimed in. "She's his... boss, in a way."

His sister snickered at the older witch's choice of words, but she dropped the subject. Mémé Aude, now better informed of the facts, urged him to continue.

Hermione's letter explained how awful she felt at hiding from her father yet another part of her life, and Blaise was sorely tempted to stop reading what followed next, because she might have mentioned their plan in the letter. He paused and cast an eye over the ensuing lines; she must have known her envelope wouldn't be kept private, and there was no mention of either Draught or antidote in the text. She asked for her valerian roots, which he vowed to send her as soon as he could get away from the living room, and then she finished with an odd request from her own mother.

"What request?" Giulia inquired.

Blaise shook his head, and started walking towards the hallway. He then addressed his mother, who had followed him out.

"Where is Dad?"

* * *

__As you can see, Blaise, things are going relatively well, but my valerian roots aren't the only reason I've contacted you. I've already told you what my mother's experience without her Defender was, and that I've only recently begun to notice an ache in her eyes whenever I mention your father. She has asked me thousands and thousands of questions about him, and to many of these, I don't know what to say. I know she loves Dad, and I know she loves me, but I think there's an empty space inside her, a void that only the Defender of the Heir can fill. At least, that's how I understood it when we talked. I asked her if she'd like to meet you and your father, and you should have seen the look in her eyes! She was glowing –_

"I think I've heard enough, Blaise," his father interrupted him.

Blaise stared at him, laying the letter on the desk of the study. For a split second, he tried to imagine how his life would have been, never having met Hermione, and he shuddered; the jealousy and possessiveness he would have perceived without reason, and the dull heartache he felt after not having seen her for four days amplified to a constant shooting pain in his chest. He had to agree with Madam Ravenclaw; a Defender could not survive without the heir. So how had his father done it?

"I do not wish to see her."

He had spoken with the detached tone he usually conducted business with, prompting his son to question the sincerity of his words. Hermione's letter had obviously had an impact on the older wizard, and Blaise prodded the surface until his father's resolution rippled.

"Meeting after all these years will not cure us!" he snapped suddenly.

"And how is living apart helping?"

His father eyed him sharply. "I'm telling you, son, she will regret it."

"Who, Dad? Who will regret it? Say her name, if she means so little to you."

Blaise knew he was overstepping his boundaries. The two wizards had developed a bond during their first training sessions, and their relationship as father and son was slowly evolving; all the same, they weren't friends, and Blaise had no place challenging his father.

"Leave, son," the older wizard said through gritted teeth.

"No," he replied forcefully. "I am sending Hermione a response, I'm going to tell her we _will_meet them."

His father sighed, pinching the head of his nose.

"When our family went into hiding," he began, "I knew that there was the possibility I would never meet my heir, and I learnt to accept that."

Blaise took a step towards him. "But we can change that now!" he cried out. "She's alive, and she asks about you."

A pained look passed through the man's eyes, but it was gone in a millisecond. He shook his head, and inhaled deeply.

"Annabeth," he began slowly, spelling out each syllable, "was still a child –"

"Seventeen, Dad," Blaise chimed in. "Same age as I am."

Alberto Zabini looked up. "Precisely."

There was silence for a while because they were both planning their next move; they moved to sit, he on the plain sofa and his father behind his walnut-wood desk. Blaise read Hermione's letter once more, taking in the need he could sense behind her mother's request. It didn't matter what his father said; at the time, yes, she had been a child, but she was a grown woman now and she saw no reason to deny herself the soothing feeling the vicinity of her Defender brought by. Did his father fear those feelings would drive him away from his mother? Was he worried he would fall for Annabeth Granger?

The door of the study creaked open, and Blaise's mother peeked inside. Her eyes travelled between them, and then she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her.

"I think you should go," she said.

"Jacqueline..." Blaise's father interjected, but his wife silenced him with a finger.

One had to admire her for the audacity she displayed with her husband, but Blaise knew from personal experience that in spite of her meek air, his mother was a spirited witch. She hadn't allowed her family to question her marriage, even after they had found out about her fiancé's condition; she hadn't backed down when they had requested her son attended Beauxbatons, as she herself had done, and most importantly, she had never let her husband make all the decisions in the house. She truly was the great woman behind every great man.

"I know why you'd rather not go, Alberto," Blaise's mother said softly, "and I appreciated the gesture, I really do."

"I don't want to hurt you," the wizard said.

She nodded. "Haven't we discussed this, a long time ago?"

Suddenly, Blaise felt out of place. This wasn't a conversation meant for his ears; the looks his parents were sharing would usually signal, to him and to his sister, that they were to vacate the room and leave them to their whispered business. However, that Monday was far from being an ordinary day and despite his uneasiness, he chose to stay.

"I always knew that someday, somehow, the opportunity would arise," his mother was saying, "for you to meet her."

His father took her hands into his. "I love _you_, Jackie," he breathed.

She smiled. "As if I ever doubted that," she joked. "You need her, Alberto, and she probably needs you," she freed her hand to point at Blaise. "Just look at what this is doing to your son."

His father seemed to remember he was there, and he turned to stare at him. The two wizards assessed each other, and if Blaise was to be completely honest with himself, he had begun to feel the strain of being cut off from Hermione's aura; until that moment, though, he had attributed it to the intensive training.

"How are you holding up, Dad?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

The reply was drowned by his mother's interference.

"He would tell you he's fine, Blaise," she started. "Nothing could be farther from the truth."

She asked them both to sit down, and she poured herself a glass of water. She went on to say that her husband had been the shell of himself for a long time, nearly all of his twenties were years of apathy; he couldn't bring himself to care, for anything or anyone. Blaise saw his father grimace as his wife recounted the tale, and he silently wished he would never have to step in his shoes.

"We met the year after your grandfather died," she said.

Blaise knew the story well enough; Giulia had gone through a most obnoxious phase in her childhood years when she had wanted to hear about her parents' love story almost every night.

Alberto Zabini ran a clandestine trade to help the resistance, and Jacqueline Lestrange, in a rebellious effort against her narrow-minded relatives, had met him while smuggling illegal potions in the country. He was in a perennial heartbroken state, she had just lost her father, and theirs was the epitome of a love through the barricades. It had been a romantic fairy tale when Blaise was younger, but he no longer believed it to be wholly factual.

"I think you should go," she reiterated at last. "And I think I should come too."

* * *

End of twenty-seventh chapter.

* * *

[1] _**superbia,**__**ae**__:_ arrogance, vanity, or pride, in Latin.

[2] _**né-moldu(e)**__:_ Muggle-born, in French.

**STORY IS ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.**


End file.
